She craved not party nor the laughter,
it just helped her get through the day.
Get through the night into the morning,
when her mind began to fray
She craved not nicotine nor powder,
went through the high just for the low
A master chef, stirring disaster,
skilled fingers kneading the dough
She wasn’t yours to keep, nor mine to take,
but hers to give at will
Paths entangling for a bit,
life stories wrote with broken quill
While I was busy drawing art you sat there,
dried ink spilled
And stared as if I was at fault
for a void not yet quite filled
I kept her busy, you kept brooding,
kept trying to lay blame
We waited for you to pick a fight,
alas it was in vain
No fists were swung, no words exchanged,
no single insult traded
You disappointing all us three,
as the rush quick faded
Was I still with her in the morning,
gone like a thief in darkest night?
Were you still working up the courage,
to after all pick, start a fight?
She would not know, had long moved on,
before the morning light
But unlike you I was not scorned,
had understood her right
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