Non-Fiction
Sometimes I cry
When I think of all the loved ones
That I have left behind
And how old I have become
These days I am alone
And curse
All the wrong choices
That I have made
These days I sit
Writing poetry
About lost loves
And past memories
And when
There is no one here
And the weight of those years
Falls heavily upon me
Try as I might
There is nothing I can do
But sit here by myself
And cry
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