Posted in Uncategorized

Pen, Ink, Water

Waiting for a slow decent into what would become a pile of ash

The never that hung in the balance between my thighs was enough

Listen to me,

The porch light is still on and the night is devouring

what little patience I’ve gathered

In a few short hours, when morning comes tapping on my forehead

don’t ask to kiss my mouth with starvation on your tongue

or

to listen to the song of my breathing

I can’t take it

and the AC will kick on, blowing my ashes around

like a tiny tornado filled with the debris of

wasted youth, looming crisis and single silhouettes

No one has the time,

and what hung in the balance between my thighs

collapses onto the floor

 

 

 

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