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I would rather be hated for who I am.
Posted by subtlescribler in poetry. An empty sky and a hollow me. A silent night and that still tree. I look above and memories unwind. Little by little they flow over my mind. A persistent pain and curbed desires. A deep dark past and burning fires. All mingle wid the blowing wind. Surrounding air feels chilly and dry. Feels like a dead soul, not even a sigh. And suddenly as if by a magical string. The winds turn cool and soothing within.
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