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Self Loathing

Born cold,
Dying colder.
So, so young,
So much older.
Hating touches,
Hugs and kisses.
Denying everything,
My soul misses.
Was like this yesterday,
Be the same tomorrow.
Nothing can be done,
To ease my sorrow.
The ache, oh the ache,
The black in me.
Won't ever go,
Will never leave.
This me, I hate.
I must confess,
None touch the heart,
Of this poetess.

ŠNovember 9,1999