I wrote more thoughts of us today
and piled them in that darkened room
You know the one with the sign on the door
"Just leave them here, I will be back soon"
So the pages and pages of you and me
will collect in a home filled with emptiness
And the love borne from poetry and memory
will fade, then disappear into nothingness
As I close this tattered book tonight
I huddle silently behind your closed door
A living proof of the author's right
My pen is not mightier than your whore
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