this life solid gold,

but grounded on the tarmac

where flights used to come in and out

in that of fantastic pictures.

the only time living,

is drinking the morning coffee

to exploit the person within

in making the right calls.

but I feel just as cold inside

as it is outside.

add a little rain

and the heart becomes

a frozen waterfall.

the only heat inside

are the go-getters

of badass lines

to feel like this

when spitting poetry.

but the louder I speak,

soon becomes quiet

to whom I thought

it may concern.

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