by Robert Seminara (Vanessa's bedroom)
Love, such a satire. Hate's laughable counterfeit. The other side of sanity, and the mirror of deprivation. So much has such a falsehood ruined, this wayward notion, this reality distorted. How does one ween from this addiction? The withdrawal is madness! The craving, oppressive. All the while, stringed instruments a chorus, drums a beat. The orchestra, my torment all day long. The song, your name in my ear, and I, the conductor bidding the pain an encore.
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