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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Emotional · #1858252
This was written when my writing, was all that kept me sain.
                                                      My world is a canvas, The people pride and paint.
                                                          My heart beats like thunder, Slowly growing faint.
                                                      The rose catches no tears, the thorns have no soul.
                                                          My feelings are my thoughts, and I have no control.
                                                      Slowly  going crazy, Quickly growing old, like a bad
                                                        hand of cards, I am ready to fold. My heart and soul
                                                      ache, this pretty smile seems so fake. Sometimes I
                                                      wonder if I am really even awake, or have I already begun
                                                        to brake.

                                                                            By: Charline Moore
© Copyright 2012 charlie (cme1574 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1858252