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It's 4 am and I Miss Your Stupid Voice

“All my what ifs are haunted by you.”


Still hanging about

Despite my clandestine efforts

To hide what's so clearly seen

My bones are aching

For the touch of my lost love


As I am sitting at the dining table

With a full appetite for solitude

My mind wanders off

From the sweet sweet meadows

To the devilish of places

The dark alley of illusion


And I start thinking

Memory must be the greatest curse

Given to the human beginnings

How could just remembering

The way your lips move

Hurt so much?


I tell myself

Could have beens

Would of beens

Are as vicious as

Truths within lies

Allies within spies

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