Of empty fissures

Of empty fissures

Of being spent like a last card
Drained to the bottom of a whiskey glass
Swore an oath of everlasting affection–
The other side of an eternal illusion
He becomes nought but an object of pleasure
For them and sparks which make hearts fissure
With tears like gin
drying before they reach the cheeks
His fissured heart as percussion
sounding empty for an eon.

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