In the quiet hours, when shadows dance,
The world grows still, and thought has space.
A poem begins, a single glance,
Upon this old, remembered place.
- S.T.M.
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Stories by Toto_thecat
The Bound Self: Owned at First Gla...
This poem is an exploration of the dangerous tipping point between profound admiration and all-consuming
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Lores of Despair.
A Poem that describes the battle between the heart and reality in moments of Despair.