Titleless
The story is simple:Its outset common like any other.
He never wrote wrote a book,
Nor did he sketch a fine piece of art.
It was what he did-
That etched itself in my granite mind.
I was my own fool-
Not to give what I could not keep.
They were not mine:
His soul and his heart.
Blindness was my ailment-
I could not see
That his love was not for me.
He could bear it no more.
I looked at him.
She looked at him.
It was all his bloody fault.
He looked at her,at me...
And he knew not:
You say I shoudn't do this to myself....
You ask me why I don't see our parrallel paths?
Then why did you?
Love me,hold me,kiss me...
Then leave me.
And you say you are sorry?
Darn every part of you,
Darn you for every lie that you said.
Darn you for stealing my heart,
Damn you.
Your religion- damn it!
Your father- damn him!
You shall never be complete again.
Poetry by she
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Written on 2006-02-04 at 07:27
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