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Eliot
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Poems
Jun 2018
Torn
My mind,
Filled with dark thoughts,
The cynical ideas never ending.
Dressed in black, to match my soul.
But my skin,
So pale and tender,
So innocent and young.
Too young to die, too weak to ****.
So I meet in the middle,
Where dark and light collide into grey,
Only that grey is now red.
And the collision is leaving me with scars.
It seems that whatever I want to **** isn't hiding in this faint pulse.
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