April 25, 2012

Diagnosis

I think I hoped for absolution
Some kind of last-minute reprieve
A strategy or a solution
An exit sign I hadn't seen

I think I wanted affirmation
Or an irrefutable proof
Of one last glorious ovation
For my version of the truth

I think I needed one more morning
Of glory, triumph and success
Or maybe just a word of warning
That this one was to be my last

It took a smile. It took a whisper.
It all took just under a week.
And it was years ago. It's history.
So tell me why the cut still stings.

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