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Dead Letters

Poetry

We are Afraid. The supposed Ones with bravery of hearts are weakened because of affection. Now we lay low on succulent beds and Undercovers. These are my honest Dead Letters.

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Dare

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Your voice quakes on my breastplates
Resounding thuds of Fear.

                              
Short-circuited in streams of thoughts flowing momentarily.

                              
I dare to think of you.
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