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Routine

I hold in my hands the last of you I'll ever know You seep through my fingers tips And with the wind, you go And as you go to join the fray Of lovers lost I wonder, what was I to you A liberator A traitor Or a friend You're all so different But all the same In the end.
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I
Written by
Izzy0103
20 / M
Published
Jun 1, 2022
Lines·Words
22·60
Notes

Very tired

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