Unfinished Poem
It's like this feeling deep inside,This yearning that consumes me,
A thing of the past,
And more of the present,
Something that hurts forever.
It's there like the pulsing of my heart,
Just something that can't be put on a shelf,
It's like a hole punched through your heart,
Nothing can fill it up,
Except the feel of his touch.
In ways, it's the only constant of life,
It's also the hardest to endure
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