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The FaceFour forty eight, the clock had shownSo late, how I never would've checkedIf it wasn't for the ringing, on my phoneTelling me of tomorrow, how I'll be wreckedSitting in positions, progressive discomfortTyping in these words, as I slowly driftAvoiding volitions, I do this from exhortSoon hearing birds, morning's giftAlways this early, the earth herself sleepsAs a tirade of gentle rain, greets itself againWeather never surly, but just quiescent weepsSoothing at my head pain, addressing with my pen"Close the books and off to bed", orders in my headUp slowly as bones pop sorely, relief as I extendUnfix myself, and move along to my bedGripping the banister, thirteen until the endFace paled and sullen, I can feel it in my soul,Creaking of my entry, a cold bed here in storeShiftless in fixing, despite it being a bedrollAnd slipping into bed, the cold wanted moreAs I lay awake, ideate about time and spaceAsking myself, if my time was well spentGlimmering light, sun had se
ChromaYou're a part of me everyday.Everyday I see couples togetherAnd I think of us.I see the green grass and the tall treesAnd think of your hay fever.I hear chatter from cheerful peopleAnd your charming voice rings through.Your umber eyes and starless hairOpposing your pearl white skin;Forever etchedOnto my monochromatic mind.
OvercrowdingTrain comes to a stop,Passengers get on the train,I don't have a seat.