A cigarette, a dry wine, any wine might do
I knew the real you, swimming, flailing to breathe rather, beneath this thickened ocean which will continue to unforgivingly cascade down upon you – a manic parade of liquified everything all in your togged-out honour
A smart Valentino suit to hide the dreadful distaste, a shallow and unabashed scar to remind me of way back when you were heavily dependent upon outright animosity
The truly treacherous bespoke track to your entire downfall however small – a centimetre wide and blood red, seems it still gets to breathe of its own rather shallow albeit all too honest accord
These words may well come to you from the fickle grave, but only because I hold the one real weapon that can wholeheartedly free you – a literal blind lifeguard holding a rope with a bright blue ring attached to the very hopeful end
As opposed to a harrowing and all too honest homegrown noose of your pained choosing
Do yourself a quick-fire favour, would you, and pull these crumbling bones back to the surface one rung at a telling time – the thirst is incredibly there if maybe a little or a whole lot contrary right now

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