This I wrote in the middle of my American Litreture English Class my Senior Year of High School.
Back
Am Lit

Pages upon pages are lost
The ink dried and worn
No one even notices�

The small fires burn deep in the soul
There has to be a way out
Out of this place we call Hell

In a world where nothing ever changes
I look to the stars in the sky
(And I can�t figure out why�)

   Why does this (why)
   have to happen (to)
   happen to me�(me)
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