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Nov 2015
"The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures,"* she said,
But that's not what it seems like to me.
I've been caught red-handed
With bloodstains on my conscience
And my cousin lying dead on the floor.
They must all think I'm crazy
With the way I'm yelling at the walls.
Voices are telling me
That sleep won't come for me anymore.

"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
That's what they're telling me now.
"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
I know I won't get rest, for sure.

I know I've done wrong,
And she's telling me to move on with my life,
But it's hard with royal blood
Creeping up on my guilty conscience.
They look at me like I'm crazy;
My sanity is running low.
Voices scream inside my mind,
I know I've brought sleep to its final rest.

"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
That's what they're telling me now.
"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
I know I won't get rest, for sure.
For my 12th grade English class, we had to do a RAFT writing assignment.

RAFT:
Role of the Writer: Who are you as the writer? A movie star? The President? A plant? // Macbeth
Audience: To whom are you writing? A senator?  Yourself? A company? // Myself, the reader/listener
Format: In what format are you writing? A diary entry? A newspaper?  A love letter? // Song
Topic: What are you writing about? // Guilt. ******. Death. Insomnia.
veenus
Written by
veenus  22/F/six feet under the stars
(22/F/six feet under the stars)   
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