I feel like writin', but I don't know what quite yet. So whatever comes out below this line was thought up on the spot.
The pace she set for me ain't easy,
Since, before, I took things slow.
Now I grow so tired and queasy,
Givin' up the times that pleased me.
Each day I think I'm gettin' better,
Even if it's not a lot.
I watch each word down to the letter,
Tryin' hard to not upset her.
And yet she never seems to gladden
And her moods keep gettin' worse.
The tone she uses tends to madden
While my hopes and feelin's sadden.
So now I sit here so confused.
Where was it I went wrong?
At least back then she was amused.
When was it that she got abused?
I lost the spark halfway through, so I just made up some stuff that rhymed.
Frikkin Addicted To Polls (FAT Polls)
Piles of Polls! Fantastic Fatty Fun! Downright Crazy. Come Play?!
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