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Apr 2013
You are weary, I think

Of endless puzzles and games

And short romantic flames

You have grown disenchanted

With everything

Every stupid girl and foolish fling

You are bored

Of things built upon passing waves

Of all these conformists, these slaves

You have grown spiteful

Against people whining and nagging

And keeping secrets and bragging

And you are exasperated, maybe,

With all your toys breaking

As soon as you take them out of their boxes

It may be you are sick

Of instability and castles of crumbling sand

Of things reeling and getting out of hand

You have grown impatient

With cheaters and capricious ******

Who claim they are forever yours

You are tired, perhaps

Of feeling alone

And things aching through no fault of your own

I may not be

The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on

I am little, and frail

And weak and pale

And I stumble when it's windy out

But I know, without a doubt

That for you I will be strong

That I will never do you wrong

I'll keep you from going off the brink

Because you are weary, I think
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