I’m trying to unlearn your name, so i pronounce it differently.
Ironic as we call it, I repeat it incessantly.
Beauty killed, I heard from the age old, but this was the work of the ugly, my new age foe.
I don’t know if I’m happier to have a better life or sadder to leave you behind.
I know, It’s so deep, we refuse to erase the scars of our time as we mistakenly call it love.
May be I’m close enough to make you feel I’m still around, when I’ve actually walked miles away.
Sometimes the dead is alive in your head.
Sometimes the alive dies a thousand deaths.