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C
Crimson Love
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Wayning Crimson does as the moon,
She falls short of being whole,
Yet decreases rapidly,
Crestfallen little Crimson pays such love with blood,
cutting wrists, wanting life to be done,
Sickened and fading I'm just a figment,
No more...no less,
I'm nothing but me,
The one whom's name has faded with eternity.
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