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All Alone
February 17, 2016
In a room with only a bed,
The sounds of noise is dead.
The rain pounds on the window to get in,
Dripping on the floor like tears going down a chin.
Darkness surronds the room,
As if it was an eternal doom.
The bed is always alone,
Sitting there in a quiet tone.
It knew it's fate.
It knew it was too late.
© Ben Q., Marblehead, MA
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i like writing dark and sad poems and i thought this one would be a good one.