Two.

Two.

Never more than inches apart,

but blinded,

to what real love was.

The same society that binded them,

Together but pushed in

opposite directions,

strangled,

entangled,

in each other,

with no way to be free,

irony,

the simple thought,

that kept eyes shut,

and heads turned,

from what they sought.

Never finding each other,

but walking the same path,

side by wounded side,

self-inflicted,

to the void,

of a once-beating heart.

cold and emtpy now.

two,

too close to be truly seen,

by the only one,

who would've cared.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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