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My Love
November 13, 2017
I love him,
I hate him.
I hate that I love him.
But love is love.
My love for him is a fire,
And fire is dangerous.
I can smell him, like danger waiting to happen.
I taste him, bittersweet with a bad aftertaste.
I touch him, like spikes on my hand.
I feel weak for him.
© Hilary R., Woodland Hills, CA
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