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*a black heart drowning in euphoria*

Just Can’t

I wrote poems that give out the state of my soul…
I wrote when I’m desperate.
I wrote when I had secrets.
My poetry is my secret garden…
And my secret hell…
And my poetry is something you just don’t care about.
It’s okay. Although
When I’d rather talk to you than write a poem you wouldn’t care about…
I find myself too lifeless to write about how frustrated I am…
That to talk to you…
I just can’t…

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