What if a day was a product
that I could tie up with a ribbon
and put on a shelf?
What if my anger was called Pandora
with the caution not to disturb?
What if the end of days
lets me finally open that box,
to unpack a memento of you?
What if I found that the package is empty,
and I don't get those days back again?
I seem to recall the poison you brewed,
a toxin without a vaccine.
I thought I'd find an explanation
with a note left by you.
You didn't apologize
for the lava bubbling
where your blood was supposed to flow.
I remember your voice
as the sound of the wolf
baying at the moon.
I bite my lip as the truth bleeds through.
I'm the one who was fooled.
I chose to be the singer,
and I named the song after you.
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