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The traffic holds the smallest talk
As time begins to crawl
He throws a penny for her thoughts
As she stands against the wall

She starts to ride her separate waves
But her soul stays close by
Her dreams begin to misbehave
As her reality is afraid to try

A flower trapped in layers of brick
Her petals disguise, she’s akward and shy
Tormented by the touch of finger tips
Never to be picked.
She blooms to slowly die.

Written by S.K. Jackson

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