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feel like writing
Chris
its like, why do i try, to remember the good times, spent in each others eyes, when its those times, that destroy me from the inside, its those times that make me forget my life, make me regret tonight,

because its full of sorrow borrowed from a hollow tomorrow, that ill spend wishing i still had you, wishing our love was a great statue, yet remembering it was just an ant pile tramped by denile, where is my revival, what is survival, when surviving means i just have to write on, and right wrongs, that tonight might be the right song, yet tomorrow the only light of my life, is this burned out fuckin light bulb. i call, my fault. a boulder ill carry life long.

so why,
do i even try.
when all i can do
is close my eyes,
to look at you,
and remember how we cried

fuck tomorrow,
because today im tired
fuck today,
cause yesterday
i expired.

ugh fuck it. and her, and the burn that lurks in my hurt.

Tags: confusion


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