deepundergroundpoetry.com
Where the Truth Lies
We scream what we’re feeling
But what we’re feeling always changes
As life rearranges
The furniture in the room,
Closed doors feel like tombs
As the cherry tipped joint
Floats precariously
Balanced between reality
And the soft touch of empty sheets
But what we’re feeling always changes
As life rearranges
The furniture in the room,
Closed doors feel like tombs
As the cherry tipped joint
Floats precariously
Balanced between reality
And the soft touch of empty sheets
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