Inconvenient ambiance,
ever since you give me the silent treatment.
My soul is turning foul
the longer I cannot hear your howl.
Trickling time, passing listlessly,
stabbing pains, I'm dying slowly.
Looking through your rhymes, seeking
for hints of when you'll be returning.
Restlessly checking for the phone to ring,
only to find nothing. But I'll be waiting.
Mazed. Photo by Victor
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