Poetry and photo

There is no crescendo

In this descent

You want staccato

There is only lament

In your illusions

The notes

Absent

A life

Stagnant

Your worth

Spent

On my

Innocence

Are you capable

Of penitence

I wait in less than suspense

Knowing you and your contempt

Blushing at the word

Repent

For you are perfect

In every sense

The perfect tear gets their attention

As your opera begins

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