Mirth was the morning, persistence was the trick but euphony had ended, the twilight made me sick. Backsliding atrophy, keeps me sitting down, Penelope’s web binds me, an unemployed clown. You shirked me off and now I suffer derilic. The concavity of my mind makes me forget; almost. But you are always on my mind. Nightwalking dosen’t alivate insipidfeeling that everything is dead. I find myself blubbering at your remorselessness. In the doldrums I am, celibate
Prose
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I love how you are able to tell a story without actually telling us what happened. You also did a great job using uncommon words to describe common feelings and create a rhythm that made it easy to read.