it might be an early morning
the breeze wakes the day
it creeps by, as i roll over
blurred specks of lint
spread across cigarette burned carpet
of all those before me
reds and oranges against green
occasionally, traces of you
outlined by this perpetual
glimpse of the past
framed by guilt. an
acid burn in my stomach
that persists to this day
5 comments:
as if the lint is moving. probably a good sign
it goes where i tell it to. where i throw it
everything is always exactly how you want it
that's not true
then maybe you should want it the way it is
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