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What ever am I going to do,
With the rubbish in my head,
Will someone come to clear it out,
Soon after I am dead.
There's a long abandoned project,
And bits of broken dreams,
Scraps of poems I meant to write,
Faded photos of old teams.
Stories with some pages gone,
Tangled strings of knowledge,
Things I though important,
When I went to college.
Lessons that I failed to learn,
Places meant to go,
Ashes of an old romance,
That burned out long ago.
Rusting hurts and disappointments
Phobias, fears and guilt,
Things said and left unsaid,
Lying about like silt.
Promises I should have kept,
Potential fields untilled,
Friendships I've allowed to die,
Good intentions unfulfilled.
Fantasies of hideous things,
Decaying in a heap,
A nest of writhing nightmares,
That crawl into my sleep.
Cobweb covered in the shadows,
Time wasted fills a trunk,
How I wish there was a skip,
That I could fill with all this junk.
By Paddy Mulhern
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