Wednesday, September 30, 2020

274 of 366: Concrete

Had perfection was concrete
It would be you, 
To where as something abstract
Personified
Still I hate my guts
For I have love you so long
Yet the act has yet be done
Still shaken to the core
Still trembling on my knees
I guess I liked you too much
Too hard 
And the fantasy I made 
Inside my mind
Is too good to be true
And those fantasies would crumble
The moment I take a leap.

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