Born from the imperfections of my fingers are my innermost thoughts, tiny whispers in my ear by my infamous whisperer. A canvas on which I paint pictures with words.
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Just words that flow
A river in my head
It twists and turns
And never stays the same
The current is strong
You can never go back
Pen it down
And remember
The joy of the ride
Through the rough bumpy tide
That are the words
In my mind.