If you could try
withdrawn from all tales of romances,
trapped by the quiet soul beckoning inside,
avoiding promiscuous glances,
wings spread far too close to ever glide.
Whispers and rumors haunt your inner mind,
shadowing the heart inside of your core,
twisting and turning trust of which you find,
this is confusion galore.
Do you know what you're feeling, or can you not identify,
do you spark and wonder, like lightening and thunder,
what will be the other half to meet your alibi,
will you fall under, will you be torn asunder.
This is secondhand irony at worst,
one mind is set and another unaware,
ready to erupt or outburst,
to fight for a feeling which will never lie there.
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