Paradigm of Whiskey

We could’ve been alone together,

Solitude, I could’ve promised. 

Now I’ve a rope in hand. 
Tears rolling down,
Like a river I could drown in.
Jump off a cliff, 
Or soar like an eagle.
There is no breathing.
Lovely gardens and rainbows,
Rotting on the road to despair.
Longing from another time,
Now turned into scythe of death. 
* For nobody
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