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She hates the way I talk,
She hates the way I walk,
She's acting like she's too good for me,
But I know the truth,

She says I broke her heart,
But I just figured out what kind of person she was,
She holds a grudge like it's all she has,
Made her pride her first choice,

All I have in my hand is a deck of card,
A knave for her queen of spades,
I will give and she will take,
It'll be a circle,
I'll be in pain,
She will never know what she is,

So I'll let her believe,
I did her wrong,
Until she realise what she had damaged,
Ignorance will be her punishment.
Friends to enemies / couples to enemies both work. Self-reflection is necessary. No one person is to blame.
If loving you was a mistake,
Then I’d gladly go down in flames,
But like a phoenix,
I will rise through the ashes.

Either as the devil or the angel,
Either as a sinner or a saint,
I will hold you,
Until the end of our days.

And when it comes,
You can choose to be my salvation or my damnation,
But know that whatever the decision,
I will love you nonetheless.
It's cold,
You'd always complain,
And I would put my arms around you,
And share with you my warmth.

But you're not here,
That's why I'm walking alone,
There's so much heat under my coat,
That I would love to give to you.

I wonder,
Are you cold?
Wherever you are, my dear,
Please don't be alone.

As much as I hope that it's me.
Who lit the fire,
And warmed you up,
Please don't die alone.
Read this to yourself. Read it silently.
Don't move your lips. Don't make a sound.
Listen to yourself. Listen without hearing anything.
What a wonderfully weird thing, huh?

NOW MAKE THIS PART LOUD!
SCREAM IT IN YOUR MIND!
DROWN EVERYTHING OUT.
Now, hear a whisper. A tiny whisper.

Now, read this next line with your best crochety- old-man voice:
"Hello there, sonny. Does your town have a post office?"
Awesome! Who was that? Whose voice was that?
It sure wasn't yours!

How do you do that?
How?!
Must be magic.
Someone carved a face in that pumpkin,
and now it's perched on a stoop, grinning
with the same sinister grin the carver must have had
when he carved it.

And everything I recognize as expressive
(the triangular eyes, that big toothy smile)
is marked by a lack of pumpkin.
A red face of dead space.

And now I'm seeing just the opposite.
I see two spots where the eyes should be,
an open wound where the mouth once sat,
and a fire within, baking the insides.
On a Wednesday morning, clear and calm,
                     I went to Astor Place
and had a gypsy read my palm
                     or maybe just my face.

She said my heart was heavy
                     and my head was stuffed with lies.
But things like that weren't on my hand,
                     they hid behind my eyes.

The room is dull and dank and cold but at
least I have a hand to hold.
You said you wish you were as strong as I am.
I said I wish I have your ability to be gentle.

I wish I could be the one to apologize for what he did.
I wish I could take all the beating for you,
and let you know that life doesn't always have to be painful.
and love doesn't always have to be about a man.

I will always fight your battle.
I will always be the first in line.
We will hate our parents, we will hate the world.
We will talk about our dumb crushes,
and plan for the future of the female species.

I told you I'll dig you up when you die.
And I will punch you in the face for being a quitter.
I will roll my eyes and say,
"you stupid girl. You make me want to drink hard"

I love you for so long, you can't give up now.
just keep breathing one day after another.
Let me help you keep your head above the water so you won't drown.
Let me help you keep the blades out of sight so you won't get hurt.

And after the storm,
Let me teach you how to love and how to withstand the fall.
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