The love that you possess is
Conveniently random.
Comfortably, I perceive that
I'm not indispensable.

And the truth
That seldom comes from your lips
Is tainted by your kiss of lies;
Enchantingly hypnotic,
Yet sadly painful.

The pain that I can't bear
Cleverly hidden underneath.
With Circe as a snare,
Truth has hid her face from me.
 
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