A lonely man and his shoe.
Not two, but one.
Not a pair, but unique.
Not whole, but shallow.
Not suitable, only enough.
Sometimes rusted, but never pristine.
My shoe is my soul and my mind is empty.
Pour another glass. Pour another memory.
My last bullet.
It has your name on it.
Delusions from a broken mind;
Desires from a heart-shaped death.
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