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I write the opposite of my moods, so most of my good poems are darker, or somewhat tinged with sadness... but I have some happy ones too... more happy then sad, but hey such is life. My writing is my coping mechanism, so if you think it's bad, i don't care it helps me out. |
Sunlight's pouring through the windows,
Splashes cross her dusty floor...
A field,
Empty of all but us...
Nothing,Nothing
I can think of nothing to say...
Surrounded by the bustle
Happens but once a year...
Give me bliss without ignorance
To hang round my neck...
Pencil taps at the desk,
Ignoring the survey placed before...
He appeared at my window,
Broken and forlorn...
A breath across her neck to no avail
A touch down her spine with no reply...
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You may be far gone, flown away on the breeze of 777 winds, but your face still looks to my own from my bedside, and in it I can find all the answers I need. |