Smoking gun, bullet and the wound.

Perplexities occurring on a frequent basis as the conversations tilter on a tightrope as we try to circumnavigate the pitfalls of the route we’ve taken, a casual and innocent dalliance has become the intoxicating fragrance that keeps us both from reaching our nirvana,

I’m the smoking gun, the bullet and the wound, you are the silence, desperation and the solitude, I want more then to feel like this was wasted time, I want more then the words you withhold from me,

Talking in riddles and rhyming in inconsequential truths as we battle backwards and forwards trying to establish the ground that we can walk on, barely a laugh or a smile as we bury each other in the tombs of our own selfish agendas.



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