FORTY-SEVEN
feed my soulI am just a
body that
breathes
in some life
and feeds itself
some kind of hope.
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PoetryMELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. Here, I will speak the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists. First poetry collection i...