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All Over
This is the last poem I will write down,
Throwing away my pens, pencils and crayons,
Just as the sorrow is about to escape my lips,
I swallow it whole,
Weep my sorrows away,
It sucks that it all has to end this way,
But my writing career is over,
So I will sadden you no longer,
With my words of misery,
My words are to be buried in my mind,
Never to be heard of again.
