written by: John Patrick Robbins
She spoke to me of passions for everything entwined within the confines of a message.
She believed I was foolish enough to embrace dreams as my truth’s existence.
I understood the burden of knowledge and the scars of falling face forward in unending rewind.
Isolation taught me one constant.
And she severed the ties.
I will miss your narrative my dear.
It was nice basking in the delusion of what some deem as love.
Empty glasses and a slow death’s promise is the only certainty I care to embrace.
Pillow talk is empty, whisper goodbye to me instead.
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