My Next Move

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Disconnect,
I can't feel,
If this is fake or real.

I am sure of the good but,
The bad is all that's understood,
Why can't I accept these troubled times,
Well frankly my dear,
I can not fit that into rhyme.

You don't want a jumbled mess upon this page,
A pain stricken letter,
Or a sickly sweet serenade,
the moonlight flickering faintly as the,
heavy clouds that follow me,
block it's path,
A heavy aura,
No room to laugh.

So I will give you this,
And this alone,
A vaguely written poem,
To a spirited and free soul,
How you read into it,
Will determine the cards that are next played.

So please,
Let's save this sob story for another day.

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