You can stay, if you want to, she told me, blowing away
The smoke of past, present and future cigars
Seeming as distant and cold as the pale moon and I
Began to feel so useless in her arms, like a broken vase
With dried up flowers sitting in a remainder of a muddy water
And ever so foolish, like waiting in a queue for a monster roller coaster
That I had no intention of riding.
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