You tell me that you like it dark.
The coffee and the humour.
The skin that covers the flesh and blood.
The silhouette shots and the dark nights.
You say you are now afraid of it all.
Afraid of the sadness that it holds within
And how quickly it turns you numb.
Numb as in you forget the forever
And the moment of moonlight.
Unlike your taste buds your mind
remembers only the bitternes of it all.
Yet you say you like it all. And I wonder how?
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