Unfinished...
Silence ringing in his ears
A sickly lack of piercing sun or soothing moonlight crawls through the windows
Why seek death?
Was this place not a morgue?
decorated lavishly and replete with flowers like a fresh grave?
Are those tears hot enough to melt the sunglasses?
or cold enough to chill his soul until it no longer feels?
Is he to dry them with love so saturated with sorrow
that it only further wets his haggard face?
Lift the bottle and kiss hide's lips, if only for an instant...
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