Two.
Facing each other.
Listen carefully. This is important.
Exhausted. The sleeplessness; the suffocating proximity to what is really desired.
It cannot be taken from you.
So it is taken from me.
This will not last. Damned to repeat the past.
Thank God for all things under Heaven.
This malignant narcissism. The cancerous material that persuades the heart and haunts the thoughts. The blind rapport as deafening as the shots. To land silently, slipped over your face, and putting you to sleep. So that your life is stolen so I may walk my dream.
A year has passed and nothing has passed my lips. Nothing drawn inside to numb or quell. Nothing to tease the flicking flames of Hell.
Another year of lies have passed between these lips. Cutting down the center of those lascivious rose hips. It dwells in the fruit and not in the flower, the beauty and deadly properties of history, thorns of the perennial and Verdigris powder of Marcus Aurelius.
Respite sought in isolation. Hot saliva stinks this wound. Bitter is the taste of this stained flesh. Shiva loves all that the palette detests.
Anhedonia is insufferable and leaves me feeling cheap and awkward. Fuck everything
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