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LongJohn Abah

I Miss Happiness

Dead smiles in my blood, ripping bliss
Making grieve me into sad cells

Unfair torments through sick torrents
Poor nerves endear but anguish grazes
In her brazen spoils and beats every toils
Cuddling in smiles that taints sightlines

Woe to the fine maker of her bed
Who watch her vile hands playing me sad violins
To sit, still, and mislay faith, and still, to call her fate
From foreign melody but shiver to dance to her loss

She was birth for any but died for me
In airless silent wails on fearless sorrows
Happiness missing to a place she is gone
I miss her, as a made loss to her too

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