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Beneath your bed hides, My sorrowful ghostly eyes. Be still, he who breathes.
As you sit up A few rows forwardOr a few rows backThere is always someone watching shylyAdmiring you...Wishing to talk to you...
Night. A living death. In my chest and In my head. Unconcious, I lay in wake. Sifting through my dreams Until you arrive.   I don't know you. We have yet to meet.
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