SMOOTH WINE TRICKLING DOWN HER NECK

We’ll be whatever entity

Your swivelling mind

Would have us be;

No need for sprained wrists

And the placebo-like relief

Your desperate denial

Would have me drown in,

 

Burned my mattress

Taking permanent residence

On the splintered wood

Of the hall where your desire first marked me,

 

Last remaining mirror

A dubious friend

Stuffing my mind full

Of hazy tales,

 

Red-rimmed eyes

And a plush mouth

Drooping from a harsh frown

As sleepless nights

Send thoughts to

Endless

Train rides,

 

Three floors down

And still falling

Hollowed clanks foreboding

As the mirror’s fragments

Cut into the stillness

Of your blind eye’s portrayal

Of our nocturnal primness.

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