low falling sun, ruby horizon, a blood-red bruise
as twilight twirls its limbs around my throat,
nipping out the last breath of hope.
lost in a labyrinth of thoughts that twist like knives.
Clicking clock, croaking cuckoos, a metronome of despair,
each passing second set a reminder of things lost,
the warmth of your touch, now a ghostly echo that lingers.
a relentless ache that gnaws my insides,
this love that feels like a curse,
binding us in chains of our own making,
as we drown in the silence
that follows every desperate plea.
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