He wanted to be a doctor,
until her arm came off
at an accident they were in.
He held her as she was dying.
Romance died as realism
showed its ugliest face.
Nightmares came as a plague to him,
demons in the night,
wreckers of illusions.
Robbers leave fright
as a frequent fragrance.
I feel for him
but I can't quite reach him.
I am holding
a dying future too.
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