Passing through the darkness
of the long corridor
smelling of past memories,
Feeling destiny’s roughly hewn walls,
Eyes speaking of pain,
there I walk
with my once golden self turned crumbling chalk.
The gently sculpted folds of your love
turned to sharp, cutting edges;
the lovely embroidery and beadwork
turned a rough, barren terrain,
Taking a long drag of smoky memories
from the flaming cigarette of the past,
I cough
and realize
love is rarely enough.
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