SenseBreathe.One. Two. Three.And hold.An aroma likeNo other.Constant,Yet I will battle toHold it close.That same soft scentTakes me back to ourFirst night together, whereWe knew not ourselvesBut becameFriends with one another.Instant.Neither of us wasExpecting, yet at the same timeSuch a relationship wasBound to happen.The unfamiliar feltStrangely familiar,And so that night we’dLeft our masksWaitingBy the door.The scent is still asStrong,Yet I am inConstant fearThat it will one dayFade away,or perhaps your senses willAppeal to itNo longer.If that were to happen,I would rather have no sensesAt all.
Shouted the man of "Why me?"Shouted the man of red face,Whose neglected vehicleUttered its last few noisesJust short ofThirty miles from his house."Why me?"Sobbed the woman of mixed minds,Whose soon to be anticipated arrivalHad decided to give upOnly hours afterHer last cigarette."Why me?"Muttered the man of no home,Forgetting the volumeOf those once-filled bottlesThat lead him here to thisLonely place."Why me?"Though the girl of just six years,Whose mother had been takenAnd whose father sought her for his pain,Yet her trembling lips had neverLearnt to speak those wordsOut loud.