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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1688087
There is hardly any rhyming and is the most meaningful of my poems
I sit in my own little field of dreams,
Silently ripping at the seams that keep me together.

I can hear Death singing in the background,
His song is my nightmare,
My nightmare, is my lullaby.

My tears bring me sleep,
And pray this life I hope to keep.

My amethyst clouds turn gray,
While everything I know turns away.

People look at me and think "Who is that girl with the face full of shame? Was she the one who was maimed?"

I laugh at their pity gazes, and crawl into a hole,
While I try to relocate my soul.

If only they knew the truth behind it all,
If only they could see what happened in that very hall.

I remembered her face,
So calm and full of grace,
I remember the way she hung there,
No fear on her face.

I find myself drifting back to that night.
Trying to remember every detail.

Now I find myself back at the very spot, gazing up at the sky.

The moon has risen the stars are out,
The monsters come to play,
Looks like they'll have their way.

I feel the breeze brush my cheeks,
The rain touch my lips,
Like a midnight kiss.

The wind blows my hair,
And I'm less aware of my surroundings.

These hazel eyes of mine close,
And I drift off to a place of peace,
A place of serene calmness,
My own little garden of darkness.
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