Children of the Rye

Each erratic of a innocent thought, child. echoing voices Heavy chest and sober nights and pounding streaks of red— brain the hat upon my head. suffocating, Innocent smiles in the frozen of a small child lagoon. perfectly preserved. My duck, Ice skates— could not preserved… escape Tormented reminders in time. of rows I of kings am kept in the back. Holden Cyclic sounds Caulfield. of people who are phonies. Carved in Fuck You set in stones these lies spinning around, and around, and around. Music

playing on and on the carousel carrying hopes and dreams. Preserving the mind

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