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Rated: E · Poetry · Relationship · #2216943
Human Condition
Them Broadway lights and not so civil fights.

Walking alone next to an ego who'd sell his soul for attention.

I'm walking through a passive aggressive street while he wishes to greet anyone but me.

I'm not writing from now.

I'm writing from the heart.

Honesty is everything.

His soul can't even start.

Your worth isn't in his decay.

It's in yours if you may.

Don't let that devil win because

As idle

As his hands seem,

They can be quick as wind.

Fighting to love the monster within.

You've been guilted into making this mess.

Now forever left wishing.

That these Broadway lights weren't ropes.

Hanging you from your own hopes.

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