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Broken Things

the paint on your walls, it's nine layers deep

and the humming of the fan above

well you swear it helps you sleep

that window lets the cold creep in

but it doesn’t bother you

your clock’s still stuck on five years ago

but you say it’s nothing new

you’ve kept every book that you’ve ever read

all the words of your childhood days

you don’t seem to mind the broken spines

or the seams that have frayed

you drink with a smile from your broken mug

I can see where it’s been glued

you’ve always said if it can be fixed

what’s the point in buying it new

and when the bloom is off the rose my dear

when there’s not much left to see

if you still like those broken things

well you'll never grow tired of me

you say that I am worth more than the sum of my parts

you say a broken mirror can be bad luck 

or it can be a work of art

and when the bloom is off the rose my dear

when there’s not much left to see

if you still like those broken things

well you'll never grow tired of me

and when the bloom is off the rose my dear

when there’s nothing left to see

if you still hang on to those broken things

I hope you never let go of me

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© 2020 by HANNAH STRICKLAND. 

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