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Me
I am the pile of
Black and grey clothes
Thrown on the floor.
I am the pictures
Of dead men hung
On my wall.
I am old photographs
Taken when
I was in a womb.
The dead leaves
You step on
When you visit a tomb.
I am what I'll
Never be able
To Define.
I am the failure
A generation
In vain.
I am the smoke
Of a cigarette
you sip,
You sip when
You weep,
You weep
After a loss.
The loss
Of a muse.
I am the sound
Your dreams make
When they shatter.
I'm the haze.
The shadow
On the wall.
I'm the red light
You see when you close your eyes
Facing the sun.
Et si j'avais à choisir.
J'aurais choisi
De ne jamais me rencontrer.
Ne jamais
Me faire face.
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Angst
My soul aches,
For words left unpronounced.
My emotions are ones of a phonie,
And my torments are trivialities.
Yet, for reasons unknown to me,
It feels as if
I'm carrying the world in my insides.
A world where birds have ceased their singing,
And the cacophonic caws are all there is.
Dead branches crack,
Crack under my burdens.
It's cold in there.
And the raging seas
Have wrecked my ships.
It's freezing in there,
Blue is all over the lakes.
All over my soul,
All over my lips.
It must've been something.
Something I've done.
In one of my fore lives.
Something unforgivable.
So revolving that
The aftereffects are here
Carried in me.
An inseparable piece of me.
A definition
Of the mere human I am.
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