we attract the same kind.
they don't stay.
for those that come, they never leave.
it is us who go away.
always the case, has it not been?
the manner of which, such events take place?
a waste, their reluctance to depart,
behind us, a trail of broken hearts.
patience runs thin, around the circle and within,
broken vinyl or scratchy pin, no one ever really wins.
the games we play...
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