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Poetry

wayward thoughts

barefoot on mahogany wood

entryways in her imagination

frequently fire thoughts

on emotional sensation-

resurrections of deceased ideas

entrench her mind and soul

yesterday will last forever

or swallow her body whole

under pillowcases,

knowledge turns the light off

night falls into sunset skies

over problems that she’ll write off

when she lays upon the ground

in existential dread

the only thing she wishes is that

yesterday was dead

or that anyone could

understand the feeling of

having nothing to give

and falling into a

void of feeling guilty to live—

ending the past but

achieving the future

looks frightening and fake

reaching a point where

everyone has something to give

and something to take

does not ever happen? or will it?

yes or no?

losing meaning

of meaning

switching gears

to daydreaming.

yelling

out from

under, trying to get away

reaching for air

searching and inhaling and

exhaling and

lastly,

fading away.

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by riaxm

I'm a second year college student in the Bay Area looking to inspire people through writing! Some things that inspire me are fairy lights, green tea, and the smell of fresh laundry. My favorite poem at the moment is Song Unsung by Rabindranath Tagore.

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