The fear and the loathing
of death and despair
Makes the question pop up
Why the hell am I here?
The sorrow
The Misery
It's all just too much
Love shared for the other
Yet Never love has been touched
The unrequitedness
of life, in itself
Makes my life rot a tremble
stacked away on some shelf
so when your digging my grave
place a dove up above
to let others know
that I did it for love

 
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