Subdued buzzing returns my hand from the wall
Lights flare and incremental inches become hard to count
As the gnats and daisies of lovelorn locks search for keys.
Was there ever a definition?
Was there ever a meaning?
Questions are born and die in the span of furtive glances
Toward her melancholy strings.
A final thought drifts toward the surface:
"Her wings cannot hold my weight,"
And an eleven year battle may finally be lost.
The lack of arms and legs does not phase my foe.
He merely sits waiting for me to no longer fight...
Just ask for mercy.
Ego eram nefas.
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