I make all the wrong decisions...
When it comes to you.
I'm an eager optimistic..
Who doesn't think things through.
From the start you waved your flag
but to logic,
I had formally bid adieu..
I ignored all the signs...
Just excited to delight in you.
Now here lies a tortured soul...
Not bitter but severely confused.
Thoughts of something I did...
Doth protest my image of you.
Was it me or was it not?
I may never know...
But I accept your acquittal.
Complex Perfection is what I call you...
Or my own shakespearean riddle.
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