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I Did It
O, the sweet alluringness
of a lie so good
you can get away with it for years.
Not a soul ever finding out.
Not a person to sit there and pout.
O, the amazing sensation
of getting away
with something so big,
not even your parents know of it.
Not even the tiniest bit.
O, the wonderful feeling
of being so clever
not even Sherlock and
his lackies could ever pin something on you.
That, for sure, is true.
But alas,
you’ve come to your wits end.
A guilty conscience takes over, so
you write one final piece.
A piece to end them all.
Your confession.
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