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This diary entry is written by ‹✖[[AntisocialButterfly]]✖›. ( View all entries )
 
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(untitled)Category: poemsss
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
10:59:47 PM (GMT)
....................

Tuesday morning, 
she wakes up before the sun;
hurries to the place 
where she 
hid her gun.
The snow outside is falling slowly,
but the cars speed on by,
even when they see what she's holding,
even when they see her cry.
She whispers into the wind,
"Maybe miracles are a lie.
Or maybe it's just too cold outside
for angels to fly." 


Tuesday afternoon, 
and she's not at school,
and he's all alone.
He checks the last message 
from her
on his phone. 
She didn't seem okay,
but he didn't ask why.
That's when the teacher 
pulls him aside 
to tell him that this morning, 
she died. 
He bites back tears and says,
"I guess miracles are a lie.
Or maybe it's just too cold outside 
for angels to fly."


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