To my most frequent feeling,
Who comes along with anger,
Who comes along with stress,
Who makes me abandon what I’m doing.
My tears aren’t in sorrow,
But out of you, you devil.
You make me look vulnerable,
But I know I’m strong,
But others see me frustrated,
And think I’ll fall.
I wish you weren’t my first response,
But there’s nothing else to say,
Aside from the fact that you leave me,
This poem is about:
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