Here I go again with my ranting.
A photograph. A simple piece of memoir made from a device called camera. It can be heart warming and smile forming but at times it can be devastating. A simple piece can be a very brutal torture.
A photograph I saw earlier,
Not of me,
Not of her,
But you two together.
I flip, I scan, I grimace
Your photos seem endless.
I grin, I frown, I grit,
My, my, I could have a fit.
I should be doing something
Instead I'm frowning.
You sure have a way in me,
You bastard, you'll be the death of me.
*exhales* You sure have a way in me, given that I only saw a picture of you together. The sad part is... it is still you.
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