Hollow

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I was haunted by the hollow of my hand
What is in it. Why
I was disfigured by the death in my eyes
Who died. Why
I was shattered by the quivering of my soul
How did it happen. Why
I was looking at the curve of my lips
Which way did they go. Why
I sat with myself once
I danced with myself once
I dreamed within myself once
Who was I supposed to be. Why

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Prison-break

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After the dawn broke she looked at the sun as it was coming up and said I will have nothing to do with love.

And as the dusk turned blue into a dusty hue of pink and grey. She looked at the moon and said I will have everything to do with love.

Questions.

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You ever felt this way before? Had you ever so many questions to ask?

Questions about life. Questions about faith?

Questions about God. Questions about death?

There is confusion.

Questions.

There is destruction.

Questions.

Denial.

Questions.

Rotten with fear. Burning in anguish.

Mere contemplation.

Hesitation.

What is a question without a definition?

Till death do apart–is it a question or mere interpretation!

They die, so some go to heaven and others to hell.

Is it a fact or is it a question.

What is that force called, which changes the season?

If i say God, is it an answer or a question for a question?

Where does the tree come from.

Are we humans? But that is a joke.

Questions.

Why? What? How? Why?