Confession.

The darkest hour wouldn't be my fear for death.
It is now the pretence that I will live, and that I'll live without you,
that I will always be there for you but under my own design.
That I will forget that I felt love once again, and it was for you, because of you.
You'll love again, just like you did before me, someone else and someone else again.
That someone broke you, and broke you again.
I loved the sincere pretention,that I put you back, I hope you'd see and you did,
and I always knew it was someone else again, not me. You saw that, saw me,
you always knew.
So I just listen to the ticking table clock,
and I let the spirit burn my nerves, pretending that I am doing better,
pretending that I will not misplaced.
I trudge beneath all the pretention that I will live, live without you, unscarred as I see you
crestfallened for someone more, as I had
for you.
Do I fear damnation?
How can I? I don't even understand it.

–-----–––--------xxxxx-----------

p.s - maybe a bit drunk.