Can’t count the years

Or the last day, ending finally at moonshine

Sick wanting your soul to touch my semblance 

You left after a week of my workings

Medicated with pills, stained in blood.

But kept me afloat 

I know you couldn’t see all I’d be

So I lay as a folded puzzle piece 

Come home

I’ve been clean and swept from the rug

I’ve been waiting for tomorrow and the words that may never come

I’m counting the years I’ve been lost

Like the ritual of this lonely cycle, never satisfying in empty homes

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