If there’s room to spare in your heart, don’t save a place for me, for I’m fickle with my love and rash with my humanity – scar tissue lines my pettiness, with cynicism always at the ready, as I lay bricks with your words to hold my sorrows steady. All I can offer to you is a smile with hidden passions, as I recklessly bare my soul and ask your devotion as its ransom, for my heart, although not full, still holds no vacancy, feel free to linger on if you’re enjoying the complacency – I know this is not quite a love song, but it is you knowing me.

 

 

Painting our illusions in 108 words a day. 

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