In my meadow of imaginary flowers,
I lie in spite of myself,
counting the hours.
If you look closely,
Then maybe you will see
Through the lies
I use to cover my eyes,
So that no one can find
The sorrow that hides
Deep down inside of me.
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YOU ARE READING
Constellations Of The Mind
PoetryThoughts pulled at random from the jumble of mischief I claim to be my mind.