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Mar 2021
My heart made a promise to myself,
To gift you a love song,
But it tore no holes to whisper sweet nothings from.

My heart played dead in your grief,
When your mother passed,  
As I begged for it to strum and let the rivers gush past.

My heart sensed every blunt knife,
As you stabbed at my armour,
I cushioned it between us, but they only grew sharper.
Sundas
Written by
Sundas  19/F/UK
(19/F/UK)   
405
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