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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
It is pretty much self explanatory.

Submitted: January 06, 2008

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Submitted: January 06, 2008



Well, I've been here before.

This corner that I call home.

I sit and I don't eat, but I shout pointless shouts.

For no one can hear me from this angle.


This dark numbness has become my blanket.

I seem to gain warmth from its emptiness.

I have tried to fill this burden, but I am desolated.

Without a trace of evidence to prove that I even tried.


Everyone is staring and watching.

Waiting for me to break out or cry some more.

I am so sorry for I am too tired.

Sometimes it is too hard to bear.

Too hard to carry on with the show.


My dear friends please pray for me.

To break out of these chains.

Pray for me to overcome this addiction.


I have nothing to show for.

For I have put my trust in seamless attachments.

Now only I can make good of this bed that I have created.


As I pick up the pieces of my shattered life, I avoid happy faces on the street.

All colors I have wished to greyness.

Because I am but a cloth doll being torn at the seams.

My paper heart shredded in two, staining this white linen dress.


I wish to fill my lungs with laughter.

I wish to fill my heart with desire.

But all I can do is cradle myself inside this corner.

I can't seem to move for I have grown accustomed.


Memories are frozen in time.

Locked away in a vault.

I take them out to feed this hunger.

Hoping to gain some sort of nourishment.


I dig up old acquaintances only to fill in for the lost.

I toy with these shadows as dawn pears through the window.

They speak of my mistakes and remind me of where I went wrong.

A chill hovers over my corner, as I write my distress upon the frost.








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