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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Relationship >> ID #1584601 |
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It's ten til five. The sun begins to rise as I give up. You said that you'd come soon, and that was seven hours ago. Your lies are sinking quickly, like the setting moon. I should have known you'd sing a different tune; I hacked your email: Babe, I want you back -- you've been with her since late this afternoon. Who knew what it would take for me to crack Congrats! I really thought you'd leave the track for me. Do me a favor; don't call back. Form: "Decuain"
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