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ryn
Poems
Dec 2017
Nightcalls
Nights get heavy.
When every thought becomes a curse.
Sleep is waylaid.
When every subtle nuance you begin to nurse.
Hours grow long.
Rest becomes a dream.
Seconds start to undo...
Every stitch in every seam.
Shadows come to play,
as their dance warps your grasp.
Demons come to say...
That youβre welcomed in their sinister clasp.
#hellopoetry107
#nightcalls
Written by
ryn
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