Thee
Labels:
Sad,
self reflective
To all that there shall ever be of myself I deceive thee
The fruit of what has made my wealth becomes spoiled as left out milk
Curdled ripe my mind becomes, vexing state of conundrum
Cast aside responsibility, drowning now in what is free
Sadness overwhelms my soul, how I still care for what's now more
Posted by Richard Handley at 1:40 AM
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