Myskillsdegrading
Days are warm
Nights are cold
Yet still I feel the heat of the Sun
Scorching my thoughts into dust
The words I pen are a soup of poetry
Your mailbox is bloated with my metaphor
How do I begin to exaggerate this notion
I'm drowning in the depths of who I am
Frankly the ocean is deep with tormenting emotions
And you give me 10 limits of poems to send?
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