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The microphone still radiated growls,
since the last time he sang a lullaby for me.
It twisted and swerved around my face,
and into my boiling stomach.
I miss the days where he'd pass off a paper heart to me,
I miss how I used to scribble on it.
It floated to the ceiling of the stage,
it floated far enough for me to neglect it.
The rewind is stuck on forward,
I'm stuck with what I have.
Should've been told what a sickling little one I was,
it's taken two summers and one banquet to figure all this.
Remember the step down you took because of me?
She twisted your arms til you said "yes dear".
And you still offered to love that mangey thing,
and forced a love-me-not onto a red carnation as a gift to myself.
- by Zombie_Nose |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 10/01/2010 |
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