Tracing phrases from the dying flame
Stirring the ashes as the smoke wistfully retires
There’s no salvaging the passionate burns
Drawing quiet utterances with bowed eyelids
Drowning incoherence in the midst of purpose
There’s no salvaging bruised egos
Oh I suppose I could walk away with my head still underwater
Words are empty, but our bodies emptier still
Vessels of fleeting existence
Storm clouds of unmet intentions
The fool I played takes the curtain call
I will nurse my regrets silently
As I watch you take leave
Without my overdue apologies
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