Every day you speak,

I listen to the litany

of your demented heart.

I read you,

your fragmented thoughts,

your broken spirit.


And I wait eagerly

for each drop of your words,

drinking the emotions

which I have always been addicted to.


But one day soon

you will see that hell

can never take away

what is meant for heaven.


And you will write again,

words that are lush

with the smell of rose petals

and sweet red wine.


No more elegy of your past.

no more erratic,

confused paintings in the sky.

Still I will be here,

Lurking with my own darkness,

drowning in your stream of tears.


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