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Hugh Boone Posts

The end temptation

That evil whispering pursed
it’s lips and silently told
me yes, do it, do it now.
From that darkness I escaped
to lay outside its door.

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I write

I write, when the depression slows upon me.
I write, when the paranoia beckons me in.
Who will be next?
Who will hate next?
Where is the relief?
I write, wondering why it is this way.
I write, wondering why it is born again.

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