community
sanity
vanity
obscurity
cohesively
Babushka dolls, and light brown walls stained with fresh profanity
a Polaroid of a birthday cake sitting on the vanity,
next to matches, pocket watches and a rusty can of beer
I grew up here, I grew up here
everything's just the same.
A neighborhood of mirrors. There's glass on all the lawns.
Everybody's watching but everybody's gone.
Shed the trailer, leave the shell
so no one's home but you can't tell.
Everything's just the same.
Each mailbox has it's flag up and a name.
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