Crazy little thing called spite

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I never wanted to love,
I wanted to believe that nothing was that pure
That even daisies, all pure and white,
Grew as a product of our spite,
Cause after all we're the weeds,
Soon to implode, because, what else?
We're the blight of blood white
On grass we promised to leave as our
Neutral ground,
The place we were both free,
Back before I was you,
And you were me.
© 2014 - 2024 blood-red-ribbons
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