Living In Hell

Where does the spoken word go to;
when all conversation has died?
What happens to the thoughts that shaped them;
what happens to those feelings inside?
How does the blackness of anger;
displace a pure canvass of white?
Where did those feelings of love go;
what turned a bright day into night? Too busy to notice the cracks which; like lightening; a tree simply fell; two people - too busy pretending; they're in love whist both living in hell!

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