Wednesday, March 21, 2007

The Saints Are Coming

Love.

A word.

You use.

No deep meanings,

You use.

As a game,

You use.

For a reason,

You use.

Like you know,

Its meaning.

Its feeling,

Its existence.

Love.

A word.

So deeply wasted.

You made me mad. I hope you die. But if you do. I will cry. I really want you to go away. But at the same time. I want you to stay. Our friendship is falling slowly apart. With some tears and a broken heart. But the tears are now dry. Never again will i cry. For the heart you have split. It only hurt a little bit. The pain i will never again feel. Each day i slowly heal.

Posted by paopao at 1:07 PM

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