This was written years ago when I was 15, I'm 21 now. I do not consider myself a poet, never did. And if you intend to reply with a rude or demeaning response, do not bother to answer.
"In The Morning"
Whirlwind of memory
Remembering what was
To me, it's nothing
Nothing interesting enough to discuss
If it is, it's not hurtful
In the morning you forget about it
Almost like a distant blur
A plain, mist of the past
With no future at all
I awake
By the sound of a phone call
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