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Fluctuation of my love.


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I feel the heightened sense of hate,

And the surge in the pit of my pits,

The loathe has romance to it,

But only a pinch, only a bit.

 

Fabricated romance doesn't last,

It runs on the fuel that projects no emotion,

It picks away at the minds own corrosion,

Hopeless and lonesome,

I want more but owe some.

 

"That's just life, so let it be,"

They say to me, but usually,

I know they lie, so I just smile

Inside of me, it churns for a while.

 

"It gets better, you must believe,"

But the love is fabricated,

Can't you see?

 

Fluctuations of my love,

I'm stuck real deep in a hole that I dug,

I lack any grief, the slightest of nudge

Please stop trying to make me feel real love.

Edited by athande
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