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Wistful Person

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The hero's journey is always the same
No story unique to the inmost core
And my thoughts of you are drenched in their fame
Dragged through the mud and washed up like a wh---
When sweet secrets of fancy slip into cocoons
They break out as drums, strong as my heart beat
When I pass by you I hear winter white tunes
Pure as tremors between our hands and feet
That you ignore for a much sweeter muse
With story book curls I'll never posses
You smile at me with a hidden abuse
She is your treasure, and I'm so much less
But my hidden fruit, I still dare to crave
Our feelings uncloak, in true love's conclave




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