Except that sometimes I feel he does…
Dawn
Pours scorn
On me
I am torn
And forlorn
I mourn
For me.
Blank page
Inner rage
Lost
In a maze
No passing phase
Sending
me senseless
making me pay
each minute
of each day
words
I daren’t say
Taunting
With glee
Slowly
Killing me.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
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