Poems by Conor

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  • Is this the end of all we know,
    Wat things here lie for us to show...

  • I remember when i asked you out
    my fingers trembling on the keys...

  • I miss you a little, a little to much,
    a little to frequent, a little to hard...

  • Lies (5)

    Why do we use lies,
    we use them to crawl and hide...