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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).
All rights reserved.
Brandi Pearson has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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