The Eighteenth

It’s the eighteenth and it doesn’t even dawn on me that he’s gone
Maybe it dawns on me that he’s never coming back
I wish i felt something for it
I wish i could cry for it
Stand up and die for it
But there’s nothing there
My eyes are as dry as the sahara desert
My brain trying to drain it out as if i could drown it and suppress it
But he’s here
Not anywhere else

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