Perfection
If my sorrow's cause of the Sigh
thy loveth not thine but thine guy
Thou hearth bleeds, with no eyes CRY
input per second's thousand a lie
if thine hearth's to pass by
yet to affect only mine
if my words and his rhyme never
then you'd choose no one forever
nonetheless its just fiction
never there was friction
and no differs in diction
yet I question your perfection.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
Added by Poetry Lover
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