The Woman

She is here to save me once again,
A reminder of her unfulfilled past bestowed upon my essence.

Obsidian Polish pipe in one hand, glass of scotch poised in the other.
Her delicate silhouette melding with the physical, her soul imploding as the bitterness intrudes.
Not one patron knows her name, but all have felt her presence.

Wishful thinking fills her mind, longing for those images to come back.
His soulful eyes, his unassuming presence, his feint smell of cheap cologne.
Ten minutes pass and the laundry lists cease to stop.
He is her balance, but she continues to escape.
The land of dark abysses, her comfort, all she has ever known.


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