The End

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  • Lost Love

    The End

    My life was ripped apart
    When you broke my heart
    You were nothing but a flirt
    And for that I got hurt
    I thought you were more
    But you're just a whore
    You slept with my best friend
    And now it's the end
    I cannot be forgiving
    Now that life is not worth living

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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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