Memories of you, taste like sugar.
A reminder of my addiction
of nights spent in parks and on the road-side,
skies full of Gods,
comfortable awkward silences.
Now its just unwritten post-it notes
stuck in the head of another,
fool.
Nights spent embracing this mountain of artifice,
staring at tarnished beads of radiance.
Faded into feelings of when they gleaned by your side,
The hot wax dripping into a cupped hand,
as I lay sprawled in my bath motionless.
It feels how I ought to feel,
hot, fluid, sensual.
We can no longer be friends.
we can no longer be
anything,
but delusions and cold wax
As winter closes,
wax melts,
me.














Comments
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reality is for people who cant handle drugs
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reality is for people who cant handle drugs
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