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Broken Promises

My hands have started to look like strangers;
I feel like a ghost in my own body.
I can no longer recognize the man in the mirror,
as he just stands there staring right through me.
After all the things I have said and done,
how could I ever be at peace with what I have become?

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Drought

The well has run dry,
there is no rain in sight;
all the clouds are passing me by.

A long forgotten dance,
songs whispered through cracked lips,
that nobody seems to notice.

I write another poem,
as the dirt turns to bone,
and I only want to go home.

I write another poem,
carve feelings into stone,
but I only wish to be alone.