I wouldn’t know what to do, What to cling on to,
Should you leave, my imagination shall have naught to cleave.
Time wasted, for my curiosity to be sated,
In order to find out, that delusion’s not what love’s about.
I’ll never know it’s rights, in spite of the silent fights,
I’ve had in illustration, of the tears I want to shed through frustration.
An eternal week in melancholy, but it is not my folly,
To want this, oh please, oh please.
Until my senses dissolve, into a hushed, hashed resolve,
That for all of now, you are to whom my wanting has set its vow.
xoxox
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