Writersblock

August 19, 2017
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I wish I could pick up a pen
Wish I had power in my hands
Because I'm so done with my head
To a point where I cannot stand
My bitter world of rocks and sand

But all the words come out, they're hurting me
Cutting the paper, they're deserting me
And I'm losing every certainty
As I escape into the furthest dream





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