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Holidays spent on countless charades, Predicting all of your plays And gauging all of your games. You're driving me insane! I'd much rather fry cheese on the moon- Than see your face... Anytime soon. Oh how pointless life can be When every reverie Is infected by your dull surprise. Condescensing looks descend Into words written in books, Like backhanded comments Striking my face blue. With you I'll never find paradise. Now it's time to turn you off, Beckon you with a drunken scoff And eject you from my life. Happiness is but a loved child Lurking within the minds Of the abused set free To let their hearts run wild.
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Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
Mother
Holidays spent on countless charades, Predicting all of your plays And gauging all of your games. You're driving me insane! I'd much rather fry cheese on the moon- Than see your face... Anytime soon. Oh how pointless life can be When every reverie Is infected by your dull surprise. Condescensing looks descend Into words written in books, Like backhanded comments Striking my face blue. With you I'll never find paradise. Now it's time to turn you off, Beckon you with a drunken scoff And eject you from my life. Happiness is but a loved child Lurking within the minds Of the abused set free To let their hearts run wild.
Malachite
Written by
26/NB/Seattle
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
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