Note To Self
I found your earring on my bedroom floor,
The only thing that proves you were once here before;
It's funny how absterging it has become my favorite chore.
I don't just think of you anymore,
It's more like reenacted vagary scenes from our lives.
12 shots of Jameson should take me there,
Beyond fear.
More drunk than Keith moon,
I'll see you soon, very soon, you said.
It's been 3 years,6 months and 7 days instead.
If you and I ended with you and I,
Then I guess we are dead.
poem by Jolomi Amuka
Added by Poetry Lover
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