Nothing is real
Nothing to feel
Just burn like a flame
And go out
Where did it all go
Didn’t we have it all
Now it’s all gone

Gold copy

Sometimes she can still feel the dull deep throb.

It’s not regret.

Nor is it anger.

It is a pulsing pain that lives on.

A shadowy form that disappears,

then materializes,

surprising her at the oddest of moments.

It dawned on her…

 it lives as a throb,

because it was born in the beat of a broken heart.


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