It Makes Me Sick
It crushes me to see it I try to keep a smile
Even though it doesn't even last a while knowing I will never Have you the thought makes me sick each wakeing moment when you leave I'm watching the clock tick
Idk why the pain seems to subside when I get a blade an start to slit my wrist.
I'm sick of it, be okay for you when I'm really not, trying to be happy even though its asking a lot
I'm done I'm sick of everytime I see you my heart does a flop an flip.
I wish you two the best
Even though it really really makes me sick.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1563 - 1631)
(7 May 1892 – 20 April 1982)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
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