Thursday, July 06, 2006


Love is many a thing and comes with many a form, my love is selfish and jealous.
Difficult to accept that I am not the only one, morose is the heart.
Yet, my love is also desperate, hanging on like life's dependance.
They say if its true love its free, freely do the love they give.
But yet no Saint am I, not a Saint I am meant to be.
Therefore a jealous lover will I be, be it true love or not we'll see.


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