The end of me

 

Love me

please.

No,

never mind

you already

ran away.

'Poor desperate freak,'

those are the

words

that run

through your

mind.

Yes, yes

poor me,

poor me for falling

for your pity,

you guilt,

your lies.

Because who will

ever love me?

No one.

The end.

This poem is about: 
Me

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