Unforgetting, his slicked back black hair. The smell of his elder’s cologne,
and the smell of the freshly used barrel. To which is he remembering, the starry night
where he sat upon his van? Wondering if life exists elsewhere, while
whispering lies in my ears? Destroyed, is he, for only the moment I
said goodbye? Or deadly, when he realizes what has been lost.
where his elder lies, lifeless, and I am no longer with to bear his
pain. When he shall come back? I wait. For I must explain,
© Copyright 2016 Emily Johnson. All rights reserved.
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