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Mine feet lose balance,
core craves solitudes talents,
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no, I've not meant to remain alone,
simply... focus floats behind walled catacomb. awaiting, restless for hands to hone;
to hear own voice,
corrupt long life noise... made heavier by dark devoice
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per chance atone,
rearrange cords of wonderful tone.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Antidote & a Dreary Phase
PoetryMy second Edition of a variety of Poetry feelings. For all the support and encouragements you all share with me - I do humbly appreciate all that you say and do. The feeling I get when another writer comments, or votes is imperial to how I interr...
