Or perhaps I write to blame,
Letters to stain,
Against bright white.
Say you miss me when im gone,
Pushed far enough away.
I can't get my balance today
It doesn't matter what I say,
And still, I carry the fault and pain.
This time its warmer though,
Spring ia like with flowers and showers,
Do not touch!
The stress stunts the bloom
And anti-social, the flower stays
If not for the artists impression
Some people would never know.
Stainshane
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