His life has no real meaning with you, only an illusion.
You were an escape, to deaden life's pain
So much so, he could no longer feel, but only act.
Real love was a vague dream or some distant memory
Once felt, but no longer of any real meaningful importance.
Your flaws and aroma were all that he knew and lived for
And even that he truly didn't love, but yet be somehow sought.
How ironic, that his poisoned companion had taught him a deep anger
And hatred towards himself and all others, but yet, he needed you.
An almost forgotten friend, reality, came to call one day,
To remind him there was life without you, before
And with an honest trust and faith, before could be now, again....