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Literature Text
You’ve died in the melancholy that arose on morose breath.
In lieu of the ever desperate words that never grazed those sullen lips.
Of yours.
Quiet eyes, still steadfast.
Dreaming.
Wide awake, and you’ll utter words simply poetic.
Talking to me,
Quietly
In lieu of the ever desperate words that never grazed those sullen lips.
Of yours.
Quiet eyes, still steadfast.
Dreaming.
Wide awake, and you’ll utter words simply poetic.
Talking to me,
Quietly
Suggested Collections
Some poetry
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