note to self: pick less lame pictures to accompany texti think i'm in love with the pain
of having no one to love.
mouth buried in neck
i'm too close to miss anything.
sitting in a closet
heaving out deep gulps
of unwanted coffee and spit
i felt closer
to me.
i theorize that there are some people
who,
instead of a heart,
have an ongoing game of "don't spill the beans;"
the aim to be filled and filled
until sheer balance gives way to release.
so fill her up, fucker.
i'm always looking to bring
new depths to blooming
rims.
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