She drinks silhouettes of warm lies and seraphic skies from a bottle of hennessy in a camaro while you roll in the porcelain and wine because you miss her touch so refine. Isn't it a pity that both of you are halfway to hell and still have no clue what it means to lose a love so divine?

Oh doesn't your soul feel deprived of the chaos that triggered your adrenaline or are you dead enough to ignore the spark in your spine? Aren't you over that fight concerning 'yours and mine' or are you waiting for your health to decline?

She sits alone by the table at dinnertime while you spend the night with some Eline until the skyline is kissed by golden sunshine. However, isn't it strange that both of you plan to separate yet the bottom of the divorce paper is still waiting for your sign?