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Misty pieces of knackered past

Deserted space

Oh well, a piece of Sunday poetry to brighten the autumn breeze.

Cooked my soul, fried my truth

I left for sadness, my only youth

Entered into deserted space

high and low, my grace

---

Corridors with empty trails

who to follow, no one says

left alone, a broken mind

All is gone, I am blind

---

Misty pieces of knackered past

dwell my body, soul and last

forever and ever till sun has no rise

all is dark

sacrifice

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