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Not a Cloud in Sight

Deep beneath my taught, burned skin
I reek of evil, wretched sin
Beating is the morning sun
That knows the wicked truth within

I’d thoughts of Love, I’d thoughts of pride
Now only thoughts of suicide
Burning is the rising sun
That knows the secrets that I hide

Not a cloud that I can see
This star exposed your fantasy
Beating is the evening sun
That knows of harsh reality

Found a new soul to begin?
Wet your lips and dig on in
Beating is the setting sun
‘Til another woeful day’s begun

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 25th, 2010 at 11:37 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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