literature

Alive

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Literature Text

Poetry
My pallet on the floor has become my casket.
My memories are the roses,
As they, are the only thing that can decorate,
Or bring life to my lifeless body.
Watching the windows change colors.
Blue, to black.
Black, to blue.
Sometimes even grey...
I hear the clock,
But the the ticking is no more than a sound..
I'm not alive.
I'm only awake.
Because I feel more alive,
When I don't feel a thing.
© 2015 - 2024 HumbleVanities
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