Anymore.
Thoughts have
Gone rogue.
She has
Gone away,
His heart chokes
In a morgue.
A drought
In in his mind,
Hardly anything
Grows.
It's been ages
Since,
Any of his words
Have last flown.
He's a poet
With a plough.
Tills himself to
Keep the Ink aflow.
But it has stopped
Raining there.
Is there a
Way out? Bro.
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