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#1.0

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written on a whim.

Submitted: December 27, 2011

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Submitted: December 27, 2011

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A A A


 

The nights are the worst

slow

creeping

melancholy

The color of waterlogged silk and faded newspapers

Quiet aches

Screaming soul

I throw my hands up to the wave.

The tide rolls in

And I am

lost.

 


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Poetry

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