Poem

I don't know why i wrote this poem.
Languishing in what's wrong, Outside of myself, lingering there.
Vacant in my own skin, Every thought painted in red, gold and black
You probably don't know why i wrote this either. Obvious, is how i feel, obtuse, sometimes.
but i'm often wrong. Unless you can't hear the loud thoughts coming from my brain,
this is for you.


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