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How lonely Can a human be?
...
He is the poem.

Upon my vows, I speak honesty,
The cruel truth never spoken.
That he is the poem,
The ink that swiftly moves on sheets of white.
Your two eyes slay me in half,
True beauty reeking within the windows of the soul.
Oh what a pleasant sight,
So quick and Keen.
Twice or thrice had lov'd thee,
Hardly and madly.
Thou remember,
Verity mustn't seek through.
Stay,
So the sky may pass by sky.
He is the poem,
The promise of two.
Hurt,
But not meant to.
I should have loved you presently,
Maybe even give into my follies.
I crave,
Silent and starving.
Bread does not nourish me,
Patience is haunting.
He is the poem,
What did we hear?
It was the breath you took when we first met.
Listen, it's here.

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