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your love is tasteless.
you only want the weakest part of me.
so you use me up,
and wear me down.
i become discarded like so many of your things.
and when someone els finds me again to give
me there tasteless love,
you run back to find me.
but I'm already gone.
Ah, Jazz. You are here so seldom. I've read all of your poems. I'm usually offline when I read them. You have talent. Your senior year is half over. Hope you have grand plans for higher education.