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Grim Tales


Written beneath the skin,
those endearing analogies;
somewhere we second guessed
our intentions. We watched
the sunrise and we felt
the rain.

Our debates were based on
the facts of how we felt;
we expected acceptance of
our identity, we demanded change
for our affection.

We closed the book
before the story has finished;
the ending alters our interpretation
because of our perception.

Love is a narcotic that we inhale; our
reality becomes this sweet acid trip.
Detox from the effects is a bugger
to deal with.

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