A Farewell To Frank

These dark days grow ever colder.
We grow ever older.
And the world places on my shoulder,
This little cloud of doom.
We,
Shouldn’t have to bear this.
And I have not the strength
It seems.
Do I fear this end?
Yes, but we do not.
Though we fear this dream
What it might show us.
That you,
Should be gone.
Non-existent.
Take your face away,
And your addictions also.
Into this cloud float,
And on it sail away.
I, not we, shall stay
Leave with your masochistic ways.
Then this small cloud of doom,
Will depart.
From us?
From I.
But that is only my hope.
And my hope turns to dust when,
These dark days grow ever colder.
And we grow ever older.
And the world places on my shoulder…

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