Lost 365 Days of her Twenty-Four hours now have past, with a stroke of her hair it would have to last. Forty-Eight hours now have gone, with what a disgrace I have become. A day, a week, a month and years go by, why did I rather run and get high. I cry for her smell I cry for her touch I cry for anything to do with her was that asking too much To heal this wound and mend this heart, I need to find where the break would start. I started at the end and worked my way back to know now I am finally on track. Twenty-Four hours now gone by, the last thing on my mind is to go and get high. Forty-Eight hours now have past, I am finally counting my days out loud at last. A day, a week, a month and years go by for these are the days for my recovery that is no lie.
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