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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #1035910
Again, the same type, perhaps I should not write so depressivly.
We dance,
You and I,
Writhing against
each other,
Soft sighs fill my
Ears, you confess
your love to me,
I slip, teetering on
the edge of a
Nightmare and
a dream,
Happy once,
with this place in
out life,
Now I can only smile
this bitter smile
Pushing away, I
Dance alone
Moving on the edge
of the razor.
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