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Mar 2021
Alone, on the run;
If only it weren't so cold.
If only it weren't so dark.
You're frightened, in need of kind words -  
A tender touch.
These things were yours once, but no more.
Gone, like the wind.
Now there's only you.
One against the world.
Alone.
The Unsung Writer
Written by
The Unsung Writer  22/M/Vancouver, WA
(22/M/Vancouver, WA)   
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