Promises of oblivion.

When can we control what we feel? How much damage we get to know that we stop? How should the pain to start thinking?
Just tell me you do not love me, tell me I'm not what you want ...
I ask you to stop this pain, I want to stop thinking about everything
I do not hate you, but the damage is marked.
I prefer to suffer now, forgetting love.
Promises.

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