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April 3, 2013
T’is not to question why,
when vicious teeth, grind up
the evidence of mass deceit.
T’is not to wonder what that bin
contains, amongst shredded strips
where nonsense now remains?
T’is not to dwell on hell in
printed form. Scars papered
over never beat a storm.
T’is not to piece together
from the past, a love now lost,
that never was to last.
Posted in: Romance | | Comments (0)
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