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Writing
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About Me' incapable of being avoided or prevented; ' - Google.
Devoid of beauty or jaw-dropping brains, I'm perfection left over, the wasted remains Writing letters to people who don't exist; whom to feel pain gives my own arm a twist, emotions that will never match with my heart. I feel mismatched all the time, but let's call it art, colors are heard and sounds I can see, My senses are wrong, but try make sense of ME, I'm friendship to boot, if you do not mind, My over-worked conscience and the truths that I'll find. |
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