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Feb 8
Don't know what I said
What I did
To deserve
Your disdain
Can't explain
Such ineffable
Pain
Upon seeing you clearly
No longer the same
Seem to feel
How you felt
Underneath the moon's wane
Beneath stars in the city light
Night sky
Aflame
With the feigning
Romancing, entrancing
Pretense
Of portentous affections
Just lust I suppose
Just a fickle slight ripple
Effect on our clothes
And our hands, and our skin,
And our lips, and our tongues,
And our ears to mellifluous
Pounding heart drums
Not the one of course
Just the first one
Whom I sung
Of in ages
My serenade marked
By the notes on these pages
And gave them all to you
In genuine tune
With the irony wry,
Hung to dry kind of mood
That you choose to undo
To eschew from embracing
I'm wasting away now
My steps, I'm retracing
To make sense of where
Apart paths got diverted
And blurted out, drunken confessions
Converted
You into this empathy-lacking
Remorseless
Contortionist
Bending my form maladies
To amorphousness
Black abyss, back to the bottle
Forgetting this
Ever occurred
In rejection emmured
Where I still do not know
What I did to deserve
Your disdain
Can't explain it
In words except pain
Michael Marchese
Written by
Michael Marchese  25/M/New York
(25/M/New York)   
167
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