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by
Eliot
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Poems
Aug 2018
Alone
With hands as cold as ice,
She drifts in and out
From the shadows of existence.
Her life created
By another's misery,
She already seems dead.
Turned to dust,
She is but a hollow shell,
Alone and scared.
And every day,
You try to fix her,
To put the pieces back together.
But she just gets worse,
Until all you can do
Is watch her fall apart.
So now, she cries alone.
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and
Jasmine
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