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511 · Feb 2012
Stuff
Courier Pigeon Feb 2012
There are so many things I am dying to say
But words are no match for the meaning
So I sit alone
In this empty house
And try to keep from receding
Back into the hole that once held me
A prisoner to my own conscious mind
I find solace in the words of an unwritten poet
And though he dares me to dream
I'll pick truth every time

— The End —