desormais

i'm not yet dead. just mostly.

pleurisy is acting up.

thought of some bad poetry listening to depressing music on the way home. i'll share!

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why must hindsight be 20/20 and not colored with emotion like the day?
why must fair history be so cruel?
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while you are away
my heart comes undone
slowly unravels
in a ball of yarn
the devil collects it
with a grin
our love
in a ball of yarn

he'll never return it

so when you come back
we'll have to make new love