from the bottom of my empty heart

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December 14

See the bright light at the end,

I think it leads to me, dead.

I find it hard to look for little gifts each day,

Overshadowed by the voices that say,

This isn’t right, it’s not the way.

That tell me what I can’t hear.

Who’s that girl standing near the sun?

She’s too close; she’s almost done.

Burning to a crisp and she,

Will float up, heavenly.

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