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Silence is only golden to those who speak. Nightmares. Crawling down my throat: infecting, and burning me inside out. Waking me up each night in a cold sweat. If I try and scream it only makes it worse, my voice will serve me no justice. Now gone just a throat of rot, decaying scar. Larboard and strung, I’m forced to avail the relevance; value a pen and paper in all its worth. Forming significant titer formation across the blanks, leaving out importance. No longer able to correct the pronunciation, but a next far-fetched novelist, while he bids his voice come back to him. People will praise his eccentric work. Inept to form the proper speech; which hence all emotion: absent actions forced with frustration. Artificial, and factitious silence the only thing to calm the nightmares is the simple rambling of words heard; But runs the scar cynical and deep; muted words will never be heard.
cheybaby02 added this comment 2008-11-25 12:20:57-06:00
cool
cheybaby02 added this comment 2008-11-25 12:20:57-06:00
cool