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"A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures." The Picture of Dorian Gray

Monday, September 27, 2010

day seventy-two: bipolar, love.

there's this knot in my throat
and it misses you
there's a kink in my heart
and it hurts for you
there's a place in my mind
that still thinks about you
and sometimes there's a me
that comes out and admits
to wishing things were the way they were.

why would i want that?
i wish it were mind games i was playing
i wish i could be angry at you
but you're just not that kind
and i'm not either
i wasn't "happy"
i wasn't where i needed to be
so where was i, exactly?
and why do i find myself wanting to go back?

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