The Missing Pain

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Dying to be with you,

dying to touch.

Why does the missing pain

hurt so much?

Drawing circles on your chest,

on your lips,

my lips soon rest.

Dying to be with you,

dying to touch.

Why does the missing pain

hurt so much?

Drowning but alive,

on your absence

negativity,

my torment thrives.

Dying to be with you,

dying to touch,

Why does the missing pain

hurt so much?

I miss your smile,

your face.

As on your picture,

my fingers trace.

Dying to be with you,

dying to touch,

Why does the missing pain

hurt so much?

Then you’re home

and in my arms.

All my insecurities disarmed.

Dying to be with you,

dying to touch,

Why does the missing pain

hurt so much?

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2 responses to “The Missing Pain

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