Poetry

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The Attic

written by: Theodore Stone

She runs down the stairs and falls in the basement
The Attic was not a safe place

She Cries in such timing that leaves one suspended
on a tear that has not been shed

If I could pick her up to show her a hand
That would not strike and caress

She'd smile with envy and run with her laughter
But still she's lost on the floor

I feel so damn useless under these covers
Hiding from a scared little girl

But Im not the one crying
Im not the one dying ,
for these tears you've thrown on the floor

That form a small puddle
A defensive rebuttle
that you seem to love anymore

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