Woe to the page
who takes the brunt
of my abuse
when I feel so frustrated…
And the ink has run
out; what am I to do?
I guess it may be time
to face the facts, damn.
This should only be read,
if a sensual blues is in the air
pulling at your heart
and making the air heavy…
Why cry anymore?
The soft warmth can only
keep me toasty for a second
and then it falls.
Love is wounded
and I know that so well
so when I can find the strength
I’ll fix her right up, promise.
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