lucky number
you ask a question.
they don't answer.
sparks, fascination!
it makes you wonder.
the smoke fills your head.
flames, licking, alive!
the tables deadly laid
and no one knows they thrive.
hearts sinking under the waves.
Lord knows why she's lucky.
her number is her penny that saves
my mind's juices all muddy.
there are things no one could understand,
even if you crawled into their shoes.
why use a pencil, and not a pen?
it's all in the midnight blues.
ok, this poem is also based on specific personal events, so it might seem random and not make any sense to you. also, para 4, sentence 3 does not make sense here cos this is typed. but on my notebook it's in pencil.
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