It's only weak weekends
and solid solitude,
hollow holidays
living in an interlude.
Blind introduced
to first date intervIEws.
Just the same run through
of movIE and dinner moves.
I'm not going to lay
in the bed the sinners choose,
or taste the same fat
the repenter chews.
Tender-hearted and sore,
my love has been abused,
and my soul has been walked on
like a pair of tennis shoes.
Cuddleless in the cold-
it is the winter blues.
Im dying to pin her down,
and enter her inner tubes.
Every tender memory
exudes a mini muse.
Unprovoked attitudes...
I remember moods,
so if I have her,
I still would know that even winners lose.
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