i thought this feeling would prove fleeting, dissipating with the rain.
but nothing's changed. there's still a void
where you used to be.
anxiety's vise-grip didn't ease one bit
when i found a new home
on the bay, so far away from the memories
that infect the streets we used to roam.
every love story eventually ends in tragedy.
entropy is our fate. but wherever i go,
i seem to be doomed to stumble
perpetually in and out
of your shadow. the rot that clings
like leprosy. inexorably, i decay.
drawn like rust right back to you.