Everyday I woke up to the imitation of the truth that I can never recall the time when i first heard the voice of an imposter. 

Fraud is the word left resonanting around this empty house, as our dreams of happy ever afters are left frozen in the walls that will never see our lives being held together by it’s wooden embrace, 

Take a moment to remember the hollowness of all those words we slung back and forth but this wasn’t an argument this was a declaration of love that was nothing more then empty chambers of the weapons we used to hold onto, We used to help fight against the loneliness but we never understand why we did so by ourselves,

Everything I used to comprehend as meaningful was nothing more then an echo, a fraudulent repetition of the initial words that eventually kept on losing its value over and over again, when I speak to hindsight she can never remember the difference now that lay between the truth and the imitation, 

I’ve spent a lifetime listening to the imposters that impose themselves upon the words we want to hear, now I appreciate the silence of the world as I know she holds the truth in these long cold nights of silence. 

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