deepundergroundpoetry.com
11:11
Here I am again,
pen in hand.
Another night deep in no mans land.
Swimming through the sands of time,
sinking and gasping for air.
Without a care,
accepting nothing is supposed to be fair.
As I glance at the clock and see the numbers
11:11.
Perhaps assumptions shouldn't be made,
making predictions is something I should evade.
pen in hand.
Another night deep in no mans land.
Swimming through the sands of time,
sinking and gasping for air.
Without a care,
accepting nothing is supposed to be fair.
As I glance at the clock and see the numbers
11:11.
Perhaps assumptions shouldn't be made,
making predictions is something I should evade.
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