There’re some things
She wouldn’t tell,
Places with him
Where she often dwell.
The darkness of his eyes,
Was where she fell.
She never knew
It’d be living hell.
It’s in silence,
She’d chose to yell.
Writings of a Phobophobe.
There’re some things
She wouldn’t tell,
Places with him
Where she often dwell.
The darkness of his eyes,
Was where she fell.
She never knew
It’d be living hell.
It’s in silence,
She’d chose to yell.
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