Thoughts so vivid, they paint beautiful images as intruding and as prevalent as the smoke clouds from my father’s cigarettes.
You’re simply an infatuation of my never ending imagination.
I hear a 100 man march in the echoes of the twilight mist. A euphoric force that deludes my perception on what is real.
These thoughts of mine, they pulsate through every neuron and every vein.
They’re like electrical charges that revive my passion.
In the midst of it all I find myself lost in the depths of your torment.
I slightly exhale the dark memories of these past 15 winters and the people that died with them.
These lost souls, like the night time air, surround my inner presence and entertain me with such harmonious tunes of love.
Ironically this love of yours has numbed me from the rest of reality. Like morphine’s touch, I can’t feel anything but your affection.
A self destructive physiology that’ll lead me to a spiraling chaos. I need to escape your darkness, but it is so relentless.
I miss the warmth and comfort of your touch.
And now I'm sitting sitting here, staring at my notepad filled with our stories.
Wondering if I would've ever been enough.


Guide that inspired this poem: 


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