Your words, they doomed me to oblivion,
Yet not your words it was, that forced the pain;
The seeming doom, was just some broken syllables
Kept circling round my ailing mind again.
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nice moody poem. a total 180 from the last ones i just read by u. but in a good way though. full of feelings but seemingly healthy and kept together.
I am my poor hearts only brutal sentry; More hopeless: for to self, I cannot pray. I like it!