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Rated: · Poetry · Emotional · #1223316
Confused when hurt
What makes me perfectly me
Is this fiction or is this fact?
Your love is true,
but your heart is not intact.

Gathering pieces,
as the imagination flows.
O folded hearts,
why are you so cold?

Belonging to stone-carved minds,
how do you let your feelings discover?
New sensations come from time to time,
but you never let it wonder.

Creeping back into your thoughts,
darker than ever before.
Hoping for reason,
leading into the soul.
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