Damn that smell again.
Comes right across my nose then it goes.
But the memory remains,
And starts a cataclysmic series of events to project in my mind.
I don't want to remember.
I want to move on.
Play a different part
maybe become the con.
If you wanna see who's me you better bring a shovel.
You'll be digging deep hate to burst your bubble.
Twenty sixes turning Eights.
My confidence melting through grates.
Numbers they haunt me and never seem to leave.
Constantly questioning the contents of my sleeve.
Just get dirty and do some monotonous work.
Unfocused to focus on not letting it hurt.
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