Thought I'd write about how messed up Andy is. The following are his diary entries. (Please do not leave comments. If you have something to say, tell me when I'm online.)
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*The words of the poem are scribbled in black ink, there are spots at which the quill has torn through the paper, leaving splotches of ink on the white parchment.*
You’re above the blame,
Above saying sorry.
By the time you realize I am gone,
It will be too late.
I am the words you did not speak.
I am the truth you could not see.
By the time you realize this,
It will be too late.
I was never good enough,
To you, I was a collaboration of failures.
By the time you realize that you are the failure,
It will be too late.
I am your mistakes gone unredressed,
I am the constant reminder.
By the time you realize this,
It will be too late.
You are the blood that runs through my veins.
You are the heart that beats within my chest.
But, by the time you realize this,
I will be a mere memory.
You are the warmth sapped from my wrists.
You are the echo as the knife falls from my bloodied hands.
You are the whispered regret as the blade cuts,
Drawing crimson in its wake.
But, by the time you realize this,
I will be rotting in the ground.
You were my last breath.
You were my final thought.
Yours was the touch that haunted my dreams.
Now, it’s too late.
For you, my hear beats eternal.
For you, I write these words.
For you,
I wait.
I linger.
I long.
For you, I died.
Yet for you, I shall live eternal.