I remember all too well, of how you left me
high and dry. Digruntlement,contrariar, close
to nothing like a broken guitar.
You say your life is hell and things are
falling apart, but what were you actually
thinking, when you just up and disappeared
breaking my heart?
Sorrow and loneliness, que lastima; I’m use to the same sad songs. I’m moving to another beat now, and someone else will be playing
the drums. You never wanted me, because if
you did, you would have never forgotten or
had to remember when.
So, disgruntlement… hell yea! But I’m over
it now. I remember, but I let go. Que
lastima? Only if you think so.


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