What is this feeling of dread
Have I left her, perhaps dead
Words would once flow forth
In gouts and even rivers worth
Now only a trickle and spittle
Leaving me lost in the riddle
It’s left me hollow and cored
certainly not that I’m bored
I’ve sinned against myself
It’s left me utterly bereft
I feel so very transparent
Why couldn’t I be clairvoyant
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