There's blood caked on the shoebox.
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Letters inside spell out words that start with a 13 year old heart
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that a string of mishaps ripped apart.
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There's blood on crossed out mix tapes.
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Old songs whose meanings are crashing on the floor.
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Swallowing space like never before.
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This is like an after school special that skips like cat-scratched vinyl
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just as the dilemma threatens to die.
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These years have frozen it alive.
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There's blood stashed in my folks' garage.
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The letters folded like stars are sacred documents.
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Tributes to lost innocence.
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There's blood on the backs of pictures whose mouths have been glued shut.
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Whose eyes have lost their shine.
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I dedicate this tear to the hands of time.
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Our kisses slip through your fingers.
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Chalk outlines of lead singers.
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Even as I flee from the scene of the crime, these years have frozen it alive.
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Homicide At The Fountain Of Youth
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DESA |