It

I hear your anger,

I feel your cries.

I can smell the fear of histories repitition;

the thought of certain memories guard you heart.

You cannot forgive nor forget.

How could you?

It broke your mind,

It stole your sanity,

It wasn't real.

You are more than enough.

 

You didn't know It exists,

and the truth is nobody does.

The sickness is asymptomatic.

You dont need It.

It is feeble, It lives to break--

It lives to steal hearts.

You cant put anything above It

and you still love it.

Why?

 

It has been to scandelous.

I know you feel It, can you stand It?

You thought you had the supply,

but now you just hopelessly demand It.

It is deception at its finest,

act in kindness darkening the confinement

of skepticism, multiplied by every climate

you'd have endure for the

sliver of hope in the assignment,

of love from him in return.

 

You were like "I've heard of love, I'm goin to find this!"

Then you left your spine bent,

to an angle that I now

consider spineless

All to find It?

I'm confused, no I'm not confused

but I am cosigning the usage of common sense

in each bit of my rhyming.

 

You miss It.

It is him but he isn't what you need.

I am not it

I am the love you desire.

I am not it.

I am not a liar.

I am not it.

My love wont expire,

but you wont accept my love because of it,

when I am what you want.

I am what you need.

And I am what you desire...

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