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  Nights are where my mind uses my saved stress to play out a story of rumination. It does this for me when I find the peace that can’t obtain the goods that I assumed were lies.
Your shelter, Your illusion coldblooded, halfhearted this eternal masquerade   You are wasted rotten with mirrors gold; reflections twisted, subconscious mold, ice-cold camaraderie.
Rain, rain, go away.
Child Like by Natasha Bartley   When did I realize I wasn’t a kid anymore, you ask?   I have yet to understand the concept. Of child.
They taunt me at night I sleep with a light My fingers curl underneath And I tuck in my feet I shiver and quiver I can see the moon glow silver I hide my head And curl up in bed
I sat in my bath and wondered about how sad is the woman who has never taken a hot bubble bath late at night and has never caught herself dozing off to the aroma of lavender?
The world is a lonely place for a child so small, Everyone is big and scary,
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