these words are a feeble attempt
to carve an identity from these tired bones
and start anew
my poetry is a showcase
of sorrow, of regret
i've got entire notebooks
and a void in my heart
i can hide in
visions of her
bittersweet but fleeting
a mere passing glance
among the huddled mass
a single ray of light
within this dark forest
her image, my saving grace
from the recess of pain
you can tell your sister i still love her
i'll be here waiting |
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