I have tasted a sight.
I have tasted the current of blight
Running from your empty mouth.
Where once spilled sighs,
Where once spilled the sounds from
I must now whisper a tired goodbye,
A farewell to nothing but a lie,
An unchanging disease
In a changing form.
And you would never.
Lost upon the mile,
I allow you to drop for a while
From my arms, to the pile
Of lonesome memories.