There is a place I go to brood,
within my soul,
without the rudeness of another's life,
bearing down on mine.
In my place I like to lie,
upon cold stone,
away from the light,
but close enough to the outside,
to hear the ghastly winds arise,
like banshee shrieks in the moonlight,
the winds embellish the midnight,
enough to strike me terrified,
enough to make me fear for my life.
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