A PlaceA Poem by MoebiaThere's a place.
There's a place
I can call my own where the dead chickens keep their mouths shut And the zombies cease to bleed Where I can sleep There's a place where I see your face there's still color to it, you don't fade away like you did 4 years come today But this place, it's not real it's the darkness of my room the cracks in my floorboards I can't get inside it
© 2014 MoebiaAuthor's Note
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Added on January 14, 2014 Last Updated on January 14, 2014 AuthorMoebiaSomebody's Nosy, TXAboutI am no writer of the sort. These are my musings, my arts, my flutters of thought. Call them what you may--but a poet is not anything that I am. I have been immersed in my violin for nearly a deca.. more..Writing
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