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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Personal >> ID #1156173 |
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Things are uncomfortable,
Between you and I. Do not ask the question, For I have no clue why. How do we fix this? Well I don't know that either. You tend to be mad at me, Like an unhappy child with a fever. Are we going to end this? Or is this just the begining. Because I cannot take much more, This isn't a way of living.
© Copyright 2006 Brandi Pearson (UN: bloodorchid at Writing.Com).
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