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I lost count of the dreams I had,
And the nights there wasn't any.
It's always like that when clouds
Roll away from the moon
Like lovers saying farewell.
The solitary nightingale singing
Her eulogistic aria;
Creatures of the night
Silently wiped their tears
While doing their best not
To get heard by others.
The song finished and the bird
Flew away to her next destination
Leaving behind her lost souls,
Unhealed wounds and stinking promises.
This is the reason I prefer
To have a blank stupor.
Because when I don't
I see crazy things I know I shouldn't.
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*Picture from shutterstock
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