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Maybe.
After all this.
I was only meant to die.

not even a speck of dust,
in this entire universe,
I am an indistinct part of the dark night sky
.
They say there would always someone to offer a helping hand.
But what happens when the hands are curled into claws,
And your out of blood to bleed.
I have nothing to say,
Nothing to write.
My hands work and I sit back and watch.
I watch what THEY come up with.
Delightful it might be,
It's like the angles took my hand,
And started writing my own feelings out.
Letting my blood flow
Like silky red wine.
Letting my flesh be visible,
Along with my feelings that hide a bit deeper than flesh.
I don't have any thoughts to share,
I'm sorry.
It's only my experiences and dreams.
They say poets are dreamers after all.
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