If there is a special Hell for writers, it would be the forced contemplation of their own works. -John Dos Passos

Thursday, March 1

Creshendo

I can't live like this anymore.
We are fighting again
Screaming in the hall
While our friends look on
In mounting alarm
And at the door I stop
One last chance to
Make it right
No matter who's wrong
And you say
"If you love me you will."
But the problem with that is that
I don't love you.
Not anymore.

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