Monday, September 3, 2018

A Piece of Book 2

He weaseled his way in
Every minute. Every hour
I resisted and hid away
But he picked me, Like a flower.

He coaxed me from the shadows
I blossomed through the dark
He painted a beautiful portrait
It was fate that lit the spark.

But really he's not what I want
He's really not what I need
In fact, I need a challenge
Not a man who resembled a weed. 


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