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Rated: E · Poetry · Psychology · #2339273

Wrote this for my journal and it kinda made me cry again.

One person, but many.

One mind, a plenty.

One body, but sickly.

I lay here trapped, counting threes.

Many friends talk, are they me?

I wonder then, am I real?

Three by three, I count words.

Writing stories, and poems.


This. Sucks.
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