Every while, every time,
I think from daylight to midnight,
Feeling that one unheard chime,
Ever so slowly taking away my sight.
I think, about everything,
A broken doll that still sings,
Whether I'm awake, or I'm asleep,
Every moment, I hear them all speak.
They murmur to me in whispers,
Just the feels of it makes me stir,
They always tell me I'm useless,
And when I ask, should I end it?
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Fleeting (A Book Of Poetry)Poetry
Welcome to Fleeting, anew book I've made to compile all of my poetry material into one for you to enjoy. All the ideas are my own, and have emerged from my head, so please don't steal or copy. I look forward to constructive criticism, and I hope you...