Don't blame me for the contradictory after thoughts, they were just the pictures drawn from ill advised connecting dots. You should have guided me as we moved further down the page, but the image meant for happiness now looks more like rage. Easter a year ago, the day you let me go, but every single day that night grows as an obstacle. I hide the cigarette i'm smoking as I'm smoking for your memory, I've just moved it from the hill tops down to the balconies.
Writing has hit a wall, and it's all her fault
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1 comment:
If it's her fault then you're the one to blame for letting dampen your soul. Write with out rhyme or reason. Get that sh** off your chest. Put her memory to rest. Dig her up when you need that midnight cig.
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