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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Romance/Love · #1555350
And no matter how puny our existence, we hold our heads up like gods
And letting go, is all I stood to do, these ghosts acted on themselves, and the raven fuels the crow, waiting, breathing, mesmerized by the flashing of these lights, the same that fueled the ravens fears, the fuel that are the ravens tears, will the pilferer commit, in time, but now only a notion runs his head, only emotion, now is dead, will the crow scare even just a bit, or was the scarecrow left for dead, alongside golden statues of your head, ruins of neglect, but pain is but a simple bonus, for the pilferer took what he couldn’t pay, and even if reserved, the golden statues head, priceless, forever slaved to bury sins, with straw from the scarecrow’s head, but now the scarecrows dead, his death wont be in vein, buried neath loves tattered name, there’s someone sane, im still in sane, will I ever know, when you let me go…
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