somewhere deep under
there’s a poet in me...
Just when I thought
Under all these smiles are lies...
Joy
happy, content...
When you are alone,
Or down below...
Your bated breath
still lingers on...
Your voice on my phone, is the only sound I trust
In this bedroom full of silence and settling dust...
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A writer not only writes what the writer feels but the writer can also feel what the writer writes |
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Being in love is like playing with fire you always get burned |
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Must keep my eyes open, can't fall asleep yet, I'm widely wake, but for how long? |