I guess I should explain myself.
Laughter will fix the world.
My poems mean nothing,
but a simple wall to hide behind.
I've been in love once.
A LONG TIME AGO.
He's gone now,
and there isn't anyone else. (yet)
I don't mean to be so serious.
It's just a thing I do.
My walls tell a simple story,
but I'm not the author.
My words are only words.
They mean nothing.
My pain is only fake.
It means nothing.
I don't like him anymore.
You should be aware.
It's just his eyes that catch mine,
and keep me lost in stare.
I am okay.
Trust me.
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