poetry critical

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Hungry, Hungry Heartstrings

I'm getting used to
you using youthful
excuses to be untruthful.
I understand where
you're going,
but not quite where
you're coming from.
It's quiet.
I'm falling ill at the wheel.
All jokes aside,
I wish you'd look past the past.

This isn't finished, I just needed somewhere to keep it written until I'm ready.

9 Jan 07

(define the words in this poem)

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