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My soul aches for some sort of sign
To show myself, I am alive
The pain you give is not benign
My heart, My soul, is paralyzed

You fill me up and then wring me out
You give me hope, You give me doubt
But you can't hide your shame from me
With your pang that's cloaked in buoyancy

We run, we duck, we cover, we look
A villainous love that was undercooked
A paradise that was just pretend
And In the end I apprehend

If we could just continue to elude the truth
The fact that we are separating, there'd be no proof.
©2006-2009 ~Itami14
:iconitami14:

Author's Comments

This is the most recent thing I have written. Actually I wrote it last weekend for my Creative Writing Class. It's Supposed to be a sonnet, but I think I crapped it up.... So enjoy. ^_^

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:icontenshinoshin:
I don't like the word "undercooked," it just doesn't seem to fit. I know it was meant to rhyme, but it just sort of takes away from the poem. I like "villainous" though. I also really like your last stanza and the way it ties into the third.

--
"Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen." - Heinrich Heine

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January 21, 2006
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