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February 17, 2013


I was born to need and cling.
Brackish water beyond the spring.
Vaunted, vaulted memories.
Of you.
And I.
And him.
You spoke a little too casually.
A little too affected.
I knew exactly what was coming.
The drumming in your chest and throat.
Was in the tragedy in your voice.
Just what I expected.
The childish shit that you do best.
You told me it’d be OK.
You told me I was strong.
You said you’d only stayed the night.
I smiled and gave a feeble cough.
It sounded like a gun let off.
You weren’t entirely wrong.
But you were pretty far from right.


From → Poetry

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