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My poetry is nothing more, nothing less, than Self teaching self. I thank you all for watching as the boy learns a lesson.

So now you understand
This feeling you have,
The mix of need and
Disappointment and
Shame and

Unrequited love
Burns with a dull ache
Does it not?

She might love you,
She might care too.
But you know she won’t
As much as you do.
And that’s the bitch of it.

Out of sync.
Strained and
Too intense–
Chemical overload.

The brain burns hot
In moments like these.
Creating its own universe,
Its own version of her
To love and
Want and

But it’s not her, is it?
It never is.

The one you love
And need
And pine for
Is an artifice, my friend.

Nothing worse
than a fool
Being fooled
By himself.

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