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It is Friday
I slide into the dark
A solace from chaos
As my pen float upon the tablet of my heart
My pen bleeds
As the invisible tears and blood
Enveloped my bottle of beer
The damage is done,
The author is dead
His poetry pen was stolen on a Friday
Because he was trapped in the bottle of a ginger beer
At the bar on Friday night
Between my heart and my cocky pen
I stumbled down the street
For a glass because it is Friday
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