At my wits end grasping your vanishing portrait. Reminiscing the golden time, Circuitously projecting a chasm of flowers. Drenching myself your reverberating voices. Afraid to succumb the neurotic state I'm in.
These precious memories I relentlessly hold, Withering itself in a rapid surge. A natural part of human experience, Unluckily driven by such eccentric decease. A repercussion of this chosen dalliance.
You're a phenom that came in like a storm. Allowed me to love you, now I let you abhor. Fallaciously believed in dandelion wishes, A superstition created as stimulus of hope. But it's too late to stop me, says Amnesia.