P u r p o s e

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I sat, thinking about my future

Of things I wanted to do

I cried, from confusion

Of fear from missing the clue


What was my purpose?

I asked myself repeatedly

Torn between numbers and art

A crooked heart torn forcefully


They would say things

To fuel the hurt

For me to write words

Of a sad beautiful art


Then I would wake up everyday

Just to face weird symbols

Of confusion and guilt,

I lay among the covers



Sorry

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