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10:55
It's 10:55
I'm losing my mind
I try to count sheep
But they just pass me by
I get up and sit
At my desk, bite my lip
What to write, how to feel
Maybe my humor conceals
Who I am truly
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knives made of paper
if you cut me
with knives made of paper
I will bleed
ink as black as death
words will pour from my veins
in torrents and streams
never ending
or so it seems
my life is a poem