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The Kind of Poetry That Shouldn't Be Published
Dangling by a string
 A marionette doll
 It's a very steep fall.
 
 Don't let go of my thread
 Unless you want me to descend into a pool of sadness
 Of hurt
 Of rejection
 Of restlessness
 Of no direction
 Of feeling like my heart is in tiny shards.
 
 You joke about it, I know
 But I swear if you let me go
 It won't be funny anymore
 As the icyness would seep into my core.
 
 I can't begin to imagine the way I would be
 To be left in the dust by you, alone
 Forced into a desert unknown
 My heart aches
 The pain and pressure wouldn't be fake.
 
 No, I would no longer have a heart
 Left in the dark
 The world would become pieces, strewn upon the ground
 I couldn't stand it if you weren't around.
 
 I'd be a mess
 A pile of trears
 A collection of fears
 A torn-up, shell of me.
 
 Yes, this is the kind of poetry no one should hear
 No minute, no day, no month, no year.
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