Paper

I have missed you,

I hate having other

things to do,

when all I desire

is to sit with you,

bleed onto you,

to have everything make sense

once upon you. 

I love you,

I fear, if I leave,

I may return

and be unable to

please you,

unable to get out

a word of sense;

my dearest friend,

will you open up

your arms again? 

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