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© Nicholas Vosper 2003 |
Any promises I make would be empty, yawning chasms echoing with duplicity. Sweet on my tongue, though the aftertaste would be bitter, and as false as saccharin. I could say All the right things exactly what you want to hear. Little jewels of charm, stars for the starry eyed that would shine for a while. As false as lasered sapphires. In the end I would let you down. I am bound by ropes of circumstance, chained to my life by links of responsibility. This cannot be, and truth be told; we both know it. |