Sudden Rush

March 2, 2011
Just like a disease,
He never leaves,
She's left with no breathe,
She has no air,
He doesn't care,
An empty whole in her chest,
This sickly haze,
It never fades,
A slit in both her wrists,
With saddened eyes,
Aimed towards the skies,
She screams, "This isn't fair."
With one last breathe,
Before his death,
He whispers,
"I Love You"

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