Poetry
I no longer wear the rose-colored glasses, But catch a glimpse of you through An disposal polaroid camera. My heart bottled up so much sauded...
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I fell off from the bed beside my keepsake jar Blunt rusty winter cutting me And its claws....
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Scorning times Deviating from my path, And tedious evening's I no longer reminisce about the dalliance And my heart doesn't beat like it used to When I smell the cherry...
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All the things that left unsaid, and written in the pamphlet of my figurative mind can turn into an allegory...
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Soothing cold breeze, fallen crispy leaves, and soft sunshine through the curtains, I ruminate about my fragmented existence and how things could've been for us. Living with some eerie ghostly presence...
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The epistle that I wrote Now accumulating in this fragile yearning factory Full of null jouissance, only Felo-de-se hunch I skedaddle, but deviate You saunter, but come across my wry visage. Sometime around monotonous...
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Waking up and finding my mind kerfuffle Apparition in the corner of my room knows mishmash against my will Writing down the forlorn dream in the memoir...
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It gets pretty hefty. The unforeseen woes and stealthy essence of grief thumps my chest and creates a cacophony which stimulates my insomnia...
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