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I am tired of the fake smiles, the unreal laughs that followed the hoaxers.
Even the fictional chuckles,
That joined the audience after every heckle.
What can I do to not think about it?
When all I do is day dream about our hits.
Be it the home run you made,
Or my favourite CD collections we played.
Be it your heated hands on my body,
Or my ***** eyes that also held you under my moans' custody.
How could I move on when this was all in my head?
When I had forgotten the learnings of how to move ahead.
No one was there to collect my tears on their shoulder,
But everyone to call me a hypocrite and act as a beholder.
Wish they knew how much I needed advice,
Otherwise, I would probably fly towards paradise.
I wish I could treat my heart the same way I treated others',
Applying therapy of famous psychologists merged.
Fight anxiety, fight depression,
How could I when it became my only obsession?
Something I had written years ago.
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