She turned 31 today in the passing sunset of Amber,
A fleeting warmth pressed on through the window,
He drank, the burn reminiscent of the burning smell of flesh,
The bleach still hanging on the air,
A thin bite down his throat before the acrid scent vanished with the sun,
How he missed her,
Pale, fleeting, drowning in his solution,
In his small celebration he cuts out the world,
Drowning out the small talk and encouraging the focus on her,
He wanted, yearned and focused on that final light bleeding out,
Down beyond the crest of the horizon,
The darkness swallowed the light

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