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Sunday, July 6, 2014

Postscript.

Every part of my body is on a verge to breakdown,
Every nerve wants me to burst out loud.
Feelings taste like stale bread these days.
Life is waiting to begin but I am in no haste.
There is no point in imagining the puppets dance,
When I hold the strings in my hands.
Unlucky is the person who receives crazy love,
From someone they can’t love back.
Just when I was right about to touch my happiness,
It slipped right out of my hand.

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