she wanders alone down gritty streets
paved in the good intentions of her idealism.
these roads, marred with the holes of remorse
for all her failed attempts at living,
have led her,
in stumbling,
broken paced fashion,
to the realization that her life has
been a series of ineffective day trips.
she never had a destination in mind,
only bumbled along on a journey marked
simply by the passage of time,
and the graying of her hair.
--bruised orange
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