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Words Fall to the puddle of paper

By
Tender Spots pulsate inside my mind
taking this to an elevated stabbing.

To reach without anything to hold
to know your so misplaced.

So I walk through these hours dazed,
dazed in the moment of where I'm at.

sometimes I'm sitting here
and you just walk on by.

Word's are my blood
they fall to the puddle of paper below
as my wounded soul refuses to heal.

To reach without anything to hold
to know your so misplaced.

So I walked through these hours so dazed
dazed in the thought of
where I want to be.

Each word is my blood
each falls to that puddle of paper
as my wounded soul
looks onto the paper...





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