Wasted Breath
Maybe it just got the best
Of everything I can't confess.
Little Things never put my mind to rest,
They just make it too tired to address.
All my confusions I must confess,
That I'm just too tired to address.
And these poems just pass the time
'Till these lines just get old and die.
So save me one more wasted breath
About how He's your ugliness.
Maybe then I'll set you free,
But who will share that sympathy.
One day it'll all just be memory.
Another chapter in this life,
Set in stone I'll write it right.
And these poems just pass the time
'Till the lines just get old and die.
Now save me one more wasted breath
And savor all that we have left.
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