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  Man I loved being abused And I think you did too Kinda wish it wasn't over Please come back my four leaf clover Maybe it's no self respect My problem is that I easily forget You and I are the same in that And I think you also want to come back I think the abuse was love A traumatized version from above Neither of us could admit it So we kinda had to split it As Kanye says run away There's nothing left for us to say Except that u can always come back But remember we'll both be under attack

The Bastion and the Widow

The sun circles around all lovers through the days of their lives.

The life cycle ends and begins, the gravity weighing their time.

Passions persuaded ambition in their lives.

Their presence so fleeting, perhaps real happiness wouldn't stay.

The work of the wicked brought forth pain

The work of the wise wouldn't stop pain

The death of the thrusted love fly in the ether

There lived a bastion, praying the days away for truth.

The bastion brought his head up,
His eyes fluidly scanning space.
He realized the world for what it was,
Noticing its understatement,
Visualizing proxy love.

A widow was in search for meaning.
She stumbled into a pumpkin patch where the bastion stand.
The bastion was there, so ignorantly wise, and so beautiful.
Astronomy lived with the widow's mind
She gently gave him a kiss.

Their love for seconds.
Seconds recomposed minutes.

The minutes were gone.
As the bastion looked to her, angst filled his heart.

He stared into her soul, thinking of truth.
God swindled him.

There came a flash of fiery mushrooms. 
Their hearts left as they vanish with life.
Their lives came to the stars.
The stars lie within nothing. 

Their love without a world. 
Their love gone.

The Lord believed in him certainly,
But the Lord believed in nothing more.
The Lord saw his deserted love.
The Lord saw him.

The bastion obfuscated life.

His widowed love watched him.

Neither of them so wise.

They die without knowing.