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Poetic T Apr 2020
My room is empty except a
                     pillow...

But I drown in the feathers
             that carry me
   to illusions of flying


but I fall every time.

I wasn't like a bird, my
  wings were decapitated  
                 hard every time


I slept alone..
  

there was no one in my nest I
                was alone..

I thought I was warm,
    but in a nest of thorns I bleed
  slowly...

I drowned in my own loneliness..

My nest was a tomb of never flown dreams...

— The End —