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POEM SIX: Twilight Hour – Motif
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POEM SIX: Twilight Hour – Motif
Waking up screaming From dreaming to a black and white screen. Covering life, or so it seems. I flit like a ghost and those that used to care the most are free from my scream, bursting free at the seam. Every dream just feels so real. And the Devil cackles As he reaps his deal. He watches me scramble And dance and sing and die. Comes ‘round each year To check if I still remember The burning, flashing, reeling December; His demon’s perfect…
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