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Idle Thoughts

This life seems so transparent, like pretty pictures painted on smoke. I need to write, I have to write, but I can’t write, can’t think, the words won’t come, I’m left alone with my icy tears, no words, no magic to inspire, no brushes with which to paint my world, my paints are dry, and what am I left with? My tears, my tears and my pen, a pen sitting idly in my hand while idle thoughts I write. Nothing to say no sense to make only scribble scribble scribble with this pen of mine.


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