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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #1647692
I honostly can't think of anything to write in the description, my head is basically dead.
You tell me,
That this is my life to live,
Then you start to tell me,
What to the world, I ought to give,

You tell me,
That I am free to make my own choice,
But when I begin to speak,
You steal my voice,
As if it's yours to keep,

So, if I may ask,
Why tell me these things,
If they will never last?
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