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Lola Rennt

Annabel Lee

And this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.
Broken though breathless
To endure my penance
Yet again;
Open and careless,
Albeit knowing exactly
How this goes,

I tread on the same
Eggshells of hurt pride,
Quicksands of the past.
I trace my steps back
Over the ashes of
A burned bridge.

I offer the battered
Surviving pieces of my
Careworn heart
As fodder to be thrown
To the wolves of your

Tear down my defenses,
Dry my rueful tears so that
I can
Cry new streams of sadness
And break down the levees
Of new pain.