It marches over your skin
Like an army of goosebumps
Making its way to the roots of your hair.
It sends chills escalating up your spine,
Traveling to the dark, dusty corner of your brain
Conveniently named your conscience.
Do you hear that soft tune
Playing constantly as you sleep?
Listen carefully;
It tells the story of a girl you left broken-hearted.
It haunts your imagination as you slumber.
Do not disregard this reoccurring nightmare.
Pay attention because it may
The value of love.
You avoid every mirror you come across
Because you know you will see
It printed on your pale flesh.
The guilt is written all over your face.
There is no escaping.
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