I don't go down to the lakes anymore.
There's nothing left for me.
The birds have all gone away,
and the night swallows the sky a little sooner every day,
so there's no sunsets left,
just an endless cycle of soft and then harsh darkness.
That's all there is to see.
Dark dawns.
Dark nights.
Dark hours in between as the clock ticks, tocks and teases with a tepid smile.
Doesn't she know that I have somewhere else to be?
Doesn't she know that I'm late?
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