The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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65. February

You never told me that you loved me, but I assumed it all these years.

The day that you broke my heart, I nearly drowned in all my tears.

You always told me pretty lies, which were later scarred in my mind.

The day that you had left me, made it harder for true love to find.

You never told me I was pretty, and it hurt me more each time.

The day that I first cut, I told them I was fine.

You always looked right through me, and I pretended not to care.

The day I cried myself to sleep, you promised you’d be there.

You never wondered if I ever lied, or ever second-guessed my smile.

But I told you before I killed myself; it’d all be worth your while.

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