All I want to do is write my poems.
It will help me sleep at night,
When I am alone.
I can continually hold onto my poems,
When I have no one to hold.
I may write a hit thanks to you
Breaking my heart.
Oh what a price!
I may find your big black hair brush,
But I can always throw away a hair brush,
But I can never throw away a memory
Not even at night.
I have my poem, but I also have four walls.
By Brock
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