brush the cheek of my past
and set ablaze the pages of her
words for her that at a time seemed important
now are excess baggage
my heart, a dumpster overflowed
with soiled emotions
and worthless tears
the need to scream
compels me to compose poems of anguish
but what's the point of trying
when you're already gone
the past is the past for a reason
and will never be anything more |
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