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■ The oak
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Woke up with the absence of light in my weary eyes.
The magical happenings in our mind are just silent noise. I used to believe in faith, But the chances we destroy seem to be less poise. I seem to be out of place, Lost in a tunnel that’s like an endless black hole; Sucking me towards beginnings, making me go insain slowly, Trying to picture your eyes in my head, to feel once more whole. He can’t paint words quite as good as you But at least he doesn’t colour me blue inside Until I’ve lost my breath for good. Sometimes I wish I had erased my mind –maybe I should Donate my childhood to those who don’t know What dying in emotion is. I say emotion everytime to fill up the void Of that word I never seem to pronounce.
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