poem #10: the procrastinator

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my pen was ticking,
running out of ink,
ideas were blurry,
the paper was empty.

you pushed me,
to create my own world,
but now you left me here,
shattered and alone.

the world we used to share,
we used to paint in colors,
now it's just black and white,
it doesn't seems right.

i used to write in every page,
with every words,
there was you,
inside my heart.

and now you're gone,
my ink still bleed,
the words i breathe,
and under my skin.

i will keep on writing about you,
until my ink runs dry,
until the ghost of you,
fades and disappears. 

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