I have a million words roaming around my head. I can't articulate any one of them into words on a page. This isn't like me. Words are my thing. Perhaps the three, half-written poems sitting in drafts will be completed in time. I think perhaps these poems are a metaphor for my soul - though complete in itself, its' twin is missing thus in a sense my soul awaits full completion.
Xx
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Wild notes
~~~ Twisted strings, blood red We were opposite and one Behind these lines, mirrored We’re wild notes lost in song Travel me back...
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