The agony of the day as I dream through rose-tinded lenses of my youth. Oh how I miss the days so dearly even in the midst of my tears and torrential rains, I still am able to recall the music of laughter surrounded by so many faces. But how I rue my days in slumber and drunken tendencies. How much I thirst after the taste of strawberry wine upon your lips. I bathed in your arms, the bittersweet liquor that coursed between wanderlusting souls. But alas, I was alone in my little love story concocted in my sinful mind. The fire that lit the Northern star of my life has long since diminished, and the only warmth I find comfort in is in the burn of strong drink that causes my blood to cease into permafrost.
I could never conceive that my fingers were laced with the poison that caused your heart to become so bitter that you would turn away in utter disgust and displeasure at the mere sight or mention of my accursed name.
It matters not, for life shall move on with or without one as disheveled and uncomely as I. Each night is spent in argument with myself to convince the other that I have not completely lost all of my usefulness, that I still have some form of value amongst men.
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