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We all have a story to be told, That we choose not to unfold. A dark secret perhaps, Full of mystery and traps. Some secrets turn minds to rave, And yet, we take them to the grave.
Try not to weep, or grim will hear you as he creeps, looking for sad souls to reap. It’s quite cheap, but that’s how he pays his upkeep.
You were certain the girl was deadSixteen, long blond hair that went down to her waist, shimmering jade green eyesDressed in a white nightie and sandals like a hippie in Monterey Bay in the 60's
I write in you My mother says it’s childish My innermost thoughts My secrets Locked safely in the tear wrinkled pages of your tattered spirit Burdened with my shameful exploits of debauchery and lust
Let's get drunk, and have drunk sex. So when we wake up, we can't be upset. There's no recollection of the night before, we'll let confusion walk, right out the door. Though underneath forgotten memories, 
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