December 21st.
Your candor was paramount, but that's alright,
because I knew that this would come to an end.
Still I pray to god and speak with gravitas.
I'd give anything to take things back, just two more weeks.
When I haven't felt this alone since I've been home.
And dear, I wished on 11:11 at midnight you won't say.
Please don't say that this day could someday be an anniversary,
because it should be. Well, I'm over growing old, alone, and cold;
and you facetious this close to Christmas.
December 21st. Your candor was paramount.
Yeah, that's just fine, because I knew that this would come to an end.
Still, your getting bored? Well, I'm getting tired.
Now a love once lost is a line I stole six months ago.
Community failed. Write our names in the concrete.
Purity purged. Steal the ink for the feather.
Immunity devours your name from the pages of history.
Can we pretend that there's enough left in here for you to save me?
Oh god. I hate these keys that open doors to this broken home
and my friends I can do without, and the girls that I'll write about.
That's when things came to an end.
It was said that, I'll probably never see you again.
And now, the champion of being alone has retained the title.
But probably is still progress,
to the ones leading the quiet life of desperation.