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Poem

In the dim-lit corners of forgotten bars,
Where smoke dances with fallen stars,
I nurse my whiskey, neat and strong,
Lost in a world gone wrong.

The jukebox hums a melancholy tune,
As I drown my sorrows, glass by glass, noon to noon.
The neon lights flicker, casting shadows on my face,
A weary poet, seeking solace in this desolate space.

The air is thick with tales of broken dreams,
As I sip my whiskey, drowning in their streams.
But amidst the darkness, I find a spark,
A glimmer of hope in this melancholic arc.

For in these dim-lit corners, where silence speaks,
The truth of the human spirit silently leaks.
I pen my verses, like whispers in the night,
Finding solace in words that ignite.

In this forgotten bar, where time stands still,
I weave my tales, with a poet's skill.
With each line, I find my voice anew,
Creating a world that is wholly true.

In the dim-lit corners, I am not alone,
For the forgotten souls find solace in this zone.
We come together, broken and scarred,
In this sanctuary, where our stories are marred.

In the haze of whiskey and fallen stars,
We find solace, healing our invisible scars.
In this dim-lit haven, we cannot be wrong,
For poetry is where we truly belong.

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