Too many to count, so I wont
A testament of how much I have been idle, my hands especially
They are not used to be, it's a difficult learning curve
It isn't like smoking is a healthy habit, but then at this stage who cares about being alive
Oh wait, this was a month ago, this is a resonance
I care now, I do, so I am cleaning up
I am getting used to holding this absolutely lovely girl now
An alternative was to write dark poetry, I exercised that too, to a point of futility
You didn't read, it was mine after all
Not from someone who would treat you like a piece of meat
That you hate but seem to endlessly enjoy
Come September, you will be fine or something 'your Pretentiousness'
I shall love you, but I won't tell
You don't want it, and I have given more than I could have
So I'll clean up this sliding, let it open and close freely, these fine French windows
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