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I walk through the door
I see the walls are bare
The paint is cracked and faded
Every window is broken
I walk the dusty, empty floor
I hear it creak
I know the foundation is weak
Any second it could all come down on me
Still I move further in
No lights just dark
This place has been abandoned for a long time
Every instinct tells me to burn it down
And move on
But its all I know
Did you think I would stay away
It's where I belong
To you it looks like a sad wreck
But to me its home

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

enemyofsociety’s Poems (2)

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