Deserted Cemeteries Of The Heart
I was in my white room
Sitting on top of the world
Where there are no cares to implore
Never worried about if there was more
Touching monsters that are made to laugh
Tasting colors, smelling every sound
Bite the dog of reality's hound
All this in a way, without any
Hell has come to claim it's fair game
In the deserted cemeteries of the heart
poem by Midnights Voice
Added by Poetry Lover
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