Hello shameful youth,
Return to me from rusty springs
Or a wet elevator ride
With a little less tease.
Chiseled and crafted too late
To gloat, a sliver draws
The same blood from eight
Years past when the outward
Expanse kept many at bay.
This nameless vessel has
More than one maker and
Guilt is setting sail
With the call of a loon.
Where are my maps?
My compass of blame?
This bitter lake is chained
To past and present the same;
The anchor is light
And water is pain.
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