R. Danse


Never got a glimpse of you. | That’s four years of life. | Never knew what you were up to. | Seeing you now is like a knife,

A dagger, striking me of memories | Will you tell me why? | Something that you did, whatever it is,

Will want your presence for me to deny. | Or it must be who you are. | I mean, a lot of us agree. | This and that, you are.

But was it their words that convinced me? | I saw you myself. | I know what I saw. | One of those mockers I keep on my shelf.

Behind me you would gnaw. | Should I see you for the things you did? | Should I see you for who you are now?

For in my life, you would again slid | And it troubles me deeply. | Do I fear you or do I fear what you will do?

Perhaps, I’m only paranoid. | What you did has traumatized me.

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