The Sentence

{ Sunday, January 16, 2011 }
Six months of solitude has taken its toll.
Hollow insides beg for phantom heartbeats,
Any palpitation a vital sign of hope.
Saturated with optimism
And harshly rung out one too many times.
The ghosts continue their haunting,
Whispering familiar sweet nothings-turned-curses.
Memory lane has become death row
And we forever walk alone.



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