Nightmares

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Every night standing behind my eyes
I see a woman holding a white rose and
she has no face because someone
took a pencil and savagely scratched it out and

some nights she screams and
some nights she cries and
there are times when she's hollowly silent
as the rose burns slow in her ashy palms but

I think the nights I hate the most are
the ones where she laughs and
the world seems to crumble at the sound and
the fire burns fast and all the
graphite streaks are erased from her face
so I see her for who she truly is.

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