ideas.. thoughts.. emotions, spilt over thy screen. not cast by my pen, but rather by the sharp end of my fingers. they may not be six inches long, but they can still kill a man six feet tall.. wld u be left standin?
try to understand, try and hear thy cries,
listen to the breeze for it carries my woes.
feel the sun for it warms my heart.
skip to the rythm of the urban life,
sleep in the comfort of the still lonely nite.
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