Monday, July 12, 2010

I guess it happens

A fix
A cure
Is all you were

A salve to ease the pain

Though I must admit
Before I knew

The wound was there again

A plague
A sickness
Its what you are

A draft of poisoned wine

The power of which started quite small
But fermented over time

Undoubtedly I'm to blame
This wound I've brought myself to
Yet I can't rid me of this tearing shame
To know the weapon used was you

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