I admit it, it pains me not to find you. As open as I know you are, as trouble as your mind is.
But that’s when I’m reminded that you deal within the lines of what’s the limit and what’s far away from timid.
Scary in your process, a monstrous epiphany of darkness. I love everything that’s your disaster.
But why is it that after the roadblock is hit, I can’t find you, myself. Is this the hand we were dealt within the last one?
I swear I close my eyes and still feel your heavy presence but I open and the mirror doesn’t agree with my sentence.
I look like I lost me. So me needs to regroup, so me and me could meet up then return to we, love.
Then we can keep the speed up. We, of course, is me but, the separation of myself and me involves a pre-nup.
You leave and half is mine, but I don’t feel who I am any longer. Me with the old me, won’t get any stronger.