want;

I do not dream anymore in that drifting abyss of mine—my heart is too small to hold such impossible fallacies, such paradoxical falsities that just having them there lingering in my breath sends shocks of unrelieved trauma through my pain-riddled body, splintering my carefully yet terribly put together walls of defiance into pebbles of nothingness, of a tragedy lost to the howling winds in the mid-summer gale.
And I find that I cannot remember what my name sounds like when you call it, I cannot remember what it feels like to have your hand in mine, because in my memories you are drafted in an obscuring cloak of grey, and I have to turn away and scream, because I am losing you, I am losing you.





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