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To Whom it May Concern
I’m sick and tired, of spending every night,
crying in my bed.
Thinking about the ways you hurt me,
when I could have been loved instead.
I wish you would just stop playing
those stupid games up in my head.
When we first met,
who would have known,
that this would be to where it led.
So the next time I’m young again,
I’m not going to cry so much,
I won’t hold out my hand.
I’ll stand by my self,
on that same mound of land.
And I won’t have a crutch any more to lean.
Because all of those bad memories
will soon be long gone.

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