Monochrome reality
bleeds technicolour dreams.
She feels them all,
the separate hurts -
the absenses -
as one.
The failures.
Some were hers,
and some were theirs.
Some friends abandoned her,
while still alive -
and others died.
So tired:
She has tried to analyse
each situation,
in her mind.
She has written poetry,
and cried -
and walked, little and often,
when her health allowed.
And her mind is a drawer that will not close,
jammed with words
that they said to her.
Left with the so-called "reasons and seasons", and
a lyric that should have been
never again will I "find
someone like you."
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