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May 2019
Oh the filling of one's youth is bare and vain.
To not allow solace and the use of a brain.
The heart lays scattered on the marble floor.
Knelt down I did do.
Whatever sorrow is there in the choices made
I cannot tell you. For it is a burden all my own.
How I hate it, yet it clings to me like adhesive to my mind.
Is their any sanctity upon it? I thought not.
So weep I will, correct I must and give I do.
Regrets, regrets, who can foil your plans to devour me.
What is done is done, yet answer I will one day.
Toss and turn in the throws of serene sleep.
Do they contradict. Yes, I am regret she screams
won't you entertain me? Of course not.
No time machine is within me nor around.
You regret, be left to fantasy.
Written by
Sergey Koserov  31/M
(31/M)   
86
 
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