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Steve Sessions
Poems
Nov 2020
Whispers
The screams that would have once bitten and scratched and stabbed into my soul
are now so prevalent, so regular, so common
that they have morphed into irrelevant whispers in a cold dark wind
that ricochet from my skull without chance of permeating
The void is my friend
Vacuity is my shield
I should have been there that day
Written by
Steve Sessions
41/M/London
(41/M/London)
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My attempts of being a poet
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