| There’s a smile that I wish I could find;
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| just a whisper in the current left listless and undefined.
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| You’re still the apparition on the backs of my eyes;
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| an uncertain dissonance humming onward as I seek sleep.
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| Sleep for myself, it’s yours if you need it, but the dawn won’t allow us to
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| keep it.
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| I’ll keep talking until you finish my sentences; |
| you always do.
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| I keep finding myself floating on waves of silent disagreement,
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| illustrating my own insensitivities.
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| I’ll swallow my pride if my stomach can hold it.
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| You can cut me back open.
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| Is it wrong to say that I’ve been praying softly I’ll go first?
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| I’m still coping with where love goes when we’re sleeping in the dirt.
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| I’ll bury you in orchids hoping heartlessly to bloom.
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| I’ll dread the hours left as sunlight sneaks into our room.
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| I’ll pack our lives in paper, tell my friends that I’ll be fine.
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| I’ll burn our memories in silence just so nothing’s left behind.
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| I’ll keep your image in my eyelids and your voice inside my head.
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| I’m still sorry for the things I’ve never done and never said.
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| The ground is littered with the remnants of remembrance.
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| There will be no memorial; |
| no monument made.
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| We will only receive but passing glances.
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| Our fingers, intertwined, breaking away,
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| we are painfully aware that there is nothing left. |