Left
Just like a magician with nothing
up his sleeve,
I’m just naked for all to see
baring my soul to those who’ll listen.
I talk of things ailing the sick soul,
for nothing seems to remedy his malady.
Love is said to conquer all, but love is
plenty, yet hard to find.
I miss Love’s soft touch, but I felt
too oft’ the painful sting of deceit.
Maybe I’ll never know true love, but what
love I did have has left.
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