The muse unaware Why I write  The subject suggestive With what words I type. Holding back often In the tales told No point in revealing  Or assuming a hold. Letting go as needed More turning away Neglecting facts Watching what to say. But the words are read When I choose to share No reply ever …

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Darkness Awaits 

Darkened room Absorbing light Lethargic limbs Losing fight. Slowly walls Closing in Without anything  Pushing them. Heavy eyes Wasted breath No control  Daily death. Goals hidden Right and wrong Forgetting points Depressing songs. Happiness fades Hope cries Trials mount  Chance's demise. Nature's corpse And simple breath All things break Life forgets.