Words to be spoken,
Or shall they not,
To write be it,
And thus do,
The presence of flames,
Deathly as it is,
Engulf the voice,
Of a lone poet.
To be muet,
Or not be muet,
That's a question.
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or
Words to be spoken,
Or shall they not,
To write be it,
And thus do,
The presence of flames,
Deathly as it is,
Engulf the voice,
Of a lone poet.
To be muet,
Or not be muet,
That's a question.
MELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips.
Here, I will speak the sadness,
the heartache, and the decaying
for all the unspoken.
Perhaps under this layer of melancholy,
the girl I once kne...