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Mishapen Dreams

I carry you to your grave, for I must be your slave, I watch as the light dims down, never have been found, I cry to sleep every night, just to see you in the light, your pictures, they burn away, at my fingers every day, my wishing does no good, in the darkness is where you stood, when they find me in the dark, I will whisper this out loud, "as I watched your blood drain dry, I didn't even cry..."

How do you feel as you read this poem?

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