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Comments about Dior Graham
It starts with the ink-less pen,
The empty mirror.
Inviting you... come inside it says, we are always open.
With the solitude of your reflection,
and the mutal mistake of vanity.
We are too quick, to say ok.
Now you stare at nothing,
Complaining that this is not what's on the label.
And what was once concidered emptiness,
is now cluttered ranting,
about how it isn't good enough.
But only dissapointment stares back at us.
Then the loneliness cries out for our company.
but we do not refuse it the luxury.
Yet we do not know why,