Whiskey’d up

Clouded thoughts,
The taste of your presence still lingered on the tip of my tongue
Blurred Vision,
The I love you’s that stuck to the things you left behind
Reminiscing voices,
Your delicate touch; spread throughout the old bed sheets
Faded scents,
Reflections that failed to refract the everlasting affection between us
Swayed steps,
Pretty lies that slipped through your teeth into the cracks of my instability; secrets not even kept by the most elastic of brace
Fake tears,
Ocular organs of that of dam; in which we so heavenly trust to not burst
Faceless shadows,
Yet your gleaming eyes as of a dam, are fixed in the desert; dry at the sight of my suffering
My desire for your return not only varies upon your ability to quake away my insecurities, but to keep away my forever fear; your departure.

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