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In the end, Each one is to himself a haunted house. The monsters grow big feeding on the thoughts we won't air out. Cobwebs form from private fears, and the stairs creak beneath our heavy doubts. Let a little light in, you're not as scary as you tell yourself.
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Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Poem Nine
In the end, Each one is to himself a haunted house. The monsters grow big feeding on the thoughts we won't air out. Cobwebs form from private fears, and the stairs creak beneath our heavy doubts. Let a little light in, you're not as scary as you tell yourself.
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24/F/New Jersey
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
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