Micro Poem #57
I hate you. I can’t help but to hold you as we slow dance. To tell you that I fell for you, when you stood absolutely no chance. So anxiously as the night falls, I present to you. The death of romance.
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I hate you. I can’t help but to hold you as we slow dance. To tell you that I fell for you, when you stood absolutely no chance. So anxiously as the night falls, I present to you. The death of romance.
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