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I look through the window,
Head full of blight,
Staring into the pitch of night.

I was writing something about a feeling,
But the message I forgot,
Am I losing the plot?
Colm May 2019
Lay me out like tiles on a floor
Thrown down as if my order didn't matter
When really I am, the plan is me
A succinctly styled corridor
A path to walk down beneath the feet
Like tiles

— The End —