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Feb 2015
I can't write,
I don't cry,
I hate goodbye,
life does bite.
I am hurt,
I have pain,
yet I ain't slain,
but I flirt,
with my knife,
with my fate,
fuel my hate,
toy with my life.
I am a broken soul,
I have no heart,
it tears me a part,
my chest with its hole.
Written by
Adrian Strider
289
   Devon Webb
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