Historical Love

February 24, 2012
Cry me a river of tears near fear of why you haven't tried to find me all these years.
Bless your speech speaking sorry's for the worries if I've become less than your best, impossible, you are NOTHING.
You are no one considered someone with nothing called something; alone.
You are gone with no support left in your bones growing old, tired of the wired tapes of the game you've forced your life to play.
It's just a day, you say, yet your body won't listen to your foolish ways.
Stray from these tapes, no, stay and watch a re-run of your story, worry no more because her love is history.

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