I was in my room, not entirely there, kind of just drifting at the borderline between wakefulness and sleep, thinking about nothing,staring at the ceiling. You know, the usual. Sometimes I love being tired. It makes me feel used-up in a good way, like I tried really hard at something important. And it makes me feel hollow,empty,which sounds bad but
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P.P.S I found other poems, too. This one freaked me out:
The barren winter
sleeps and dreams
of lush,abundant summer.
The thriving summer
only stays awake
for dreams of
tranquil winter.
I forge on,
nurturing a memory,
to see your face.
I dream of how you'd taste,
but confrouted,
I year to hide,
I long for barren winter.
The really funny thing about that poem is a)it kind of resembles a love poem, and I don't write those,ever and,even weirder b)I remember writing it. It wasn't about me, it was about a person from a song.
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But:I would like it more if someone else had written it, so shhh,the above is a secretsecret.
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