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"There are poems
I was always a terrible musician.
Out of tune...out of touch...
Ever fall in love on leftover fragments?
The presence visible...
Etched in magazines
they claw at you...
I used to look for monsters
underneath my bed...
As cliched as it sounds, you make me better. The gleam in my eyes, the upward turning at the corner of my mouth, and the optimism in my voice is all credited to you.
Are your books of dreams bigger than your books of nightmares?
I am merely a poet awaiting my epiphany to erupt before my words do.
by Italian Stallion
by Jennifer RIP Lesthat Hayden