Sounds Great; I like it.
Flooding my thoughts. Your presence fills my eye.
And what is left is something I cannot do on my own.
But you may not help me.
Not now, or ever again.
My endless dramatization
Your beloved needs
Cannot get you off my head
But this isn't right
This is not what it is about
Endless thoughts and then nothing
And then her.
She used to talk to me.
She used to like me.
She used to care about me.
But I said things I shouldn't have said and now look at me.
Once again a dreader.
Then I start to care about what others think of me and start filling my own ideas
And what is left then?
The normal people don't want to see.
Your anger.
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