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Twinge Of Regret

A point. Deceptive to the cause. I wanted to be alone. I crush and falter to flatter. And here we are. Now where do we go?

You make it sound so easy. I wish I knew what to do. Pick up pieces and seek around. Document old failings. Be familiar. Your dreams are ever-fading in the plot lines of your tired story.

I find. I destroy. Same old, same old. Conversations have familiar structures. The constructs of familiar mechanisms. It's you who is, isn't it? Or do I find myself running by the old shame. Take the pictures with you. Everything felt flimsy, you were guided by whimsy.

I don't know anymore. Everything feels like an agenda creeping up. I've given up on the things I used to like. When is the time? What is the hour? The minutes of the agenda are restless in resting. I am the secret of an old enigma that's been given away. I sell myself at a price.

You make do. Accept someone who isn't. I look at the catalogue with a twinge of regret. It never ends. Repeat songs that made sense back then. Do they now? What does it matter? There's nothing to live up to but the shade of your broken dreams. And what were they all about anyway?

Cloak me up, send me in a parcel. Become something else. It's all I ever was meant for. Casually putting a different story together. The difficulty that it's become. Familiar reasoning won't last. You've got to find another way.

Here it comes, here it goes. Take it all so that nobody knows.  It's all that we have so do what you will. I'm not sure I have the heart for it anymore.

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