Does it not bother,
when the one you called your brother,
stabs you in the back,
and cares not when all is black.
Do u not wonder,
Why she who you named your sister,
grows less fonder,
and leaves you with blisters.
Does it not hurt,
When those you trust,
Make you feel cursed,
And leave you crushed.
Can you still love,
And claim white as dove,
when you offered a glove,
but received a shove.
Can you still give your heart,
if it’s broken,
would you still call this art,
if it’s unspoken.
The sad truth,
of the ageing youth,
is we give what we don’t have,
and when it goes south we still have a laugh.
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