Crimson was laying in her bed, simply thinking. She watched a small spider crawl across the ceiling as she was thinking over a new poem. The crimson story of blood, as it falls on paper. The writing of my hand slowly disappears into vapor..... As she thought of the poem, she slid off the bed and walked over to her desk and flipped open her notebook. She started writing down what she had so far, and when she was finished she closed her notebook and walked out of her room. She quietly slipped on her shoes and walked out the door. It was late and she loved going outside at nighttime. She walked over to a chair at the edge of her porch and sat down with a large sigh.
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