I love you with my every breath,
I make you songs like thunder birds,
Give you my life—you give me death
...
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Rejection is pain, pure and simple, and no body on earth is exempt from it. I doubt there is any relief from the hurt except the passage of time and the pen in a poet's hand.
I love you with my every breath, I make you songs like thunder birds, Give you my life—you give me death And stab me with your dreadful words This is great love and great poem.