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  • Loss

    Why

    You said you would always be there,
    The day I sat and lied.
    You said you would always be there,
    The I started to cry.
    But you have only been there,
    A few years of my life.
    If you would have been there,
    I would have never said goodbye.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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