third sonnet
So here I am, one more failed romantic.
Where my proclamations of love scared you.
I'm delusional, unhealthy, and sick.
Wishing I could blame innocents or youth.
Drunk off of feelings I don't understand.
I doubt your real, where the flowers bloom.
Much like a rose growing out of the sand.
I move between my faith and my doom.
I wasted a chance at a friendship.
Neither was I worthy of or deserve.
Writing an epilogue off one sip.
The wine was too strong to let me learn
that what I need was as simple as truth.
You were a light whereas I was obtuse.
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