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Dec 2020
It happens when life gets in my way,
that words in my head won't reach my hand,
they linger and fly away again,
on the soft breezes of hope and make-believe.

I never stopped making poems.
I only stopped writing them down
in the moments of silence, which have
become so scarce these days.

Tonight I've locked all windows.
I like to say that I put a pen in my hand,
but would you have believed that,
in these times of keyboards and touch screens?

So I sit here, staring at my screen and
slowly, very slowly my brain-hand coΓΆrdiation
is gearing up, but it's like opening a rusty tap,
all that comes out is a bit of brownish water.
ghost
Written by
ghost  16/F/im lost
(16/F/im lost)   
68
   Alex and erica lynn
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