Me, #4

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Despite the title, this is not about me. It could be about anyone.

Enjoy!

Or not.

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My hatred burns

Stronger than fire

My body lies

Colder than ice.

Our lives are filled

With endless desire

Our friends are dead

And no others suffice.

The demons are back

Ready to hurt

Living in fear

Of demons in the night.

People can be nice

Or they can be curt

We have an instinct:

Flight, or fight?

This is suicide

But then again, what isn't?

What in our life

Has led us to this day?

A girl standing alone

Speaks with a soft lilt

Until the day she haunts you

She won't go away.

Sometimes things run

Smooth, like water

Other time they fail

Like a broken machine.

Hell is a place

That only gets hotter

The one you love

Is long and lean.

Steampunk adventures

Fairy tales galore

Poems that rhyme you

And make you come home.

You're only being real,

Not an attention-seeking whore

So if people saw that,

Would they figure out you're alone?

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Ugh, these are getting shorter. Meh.

I'm sorry, everyone. I haven't found inspiration in anything.

*sigh* I'm a failure.

I hate that I can't write any more for you, my readers, when you have to put up with my bullshit.

So thank you, if you have this saved in your library.

I really appreciate it.

-Katrina

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