Good title and amazing words. Please read and enjoy the work of the excellent poetry.
I look over his poor posture and wily smile.
Such mannerisms lay primitive yet deliberate.
I slide his colorless nature up my floral dress.
To contract the most foul and infectious disease of obsession.
The kind of love found only in that of a dying creature.
Dead ahead I lock onto his clumsy web of deceit.
I was never trying to make it out alive.
His cruelty will make a martyr of me, but I’m no saint.
I’d kill curiosity dead just to save a few cats.
A heavy heart, an empty stomach, a death wish.
I whimper into the ear of a stranger.
And down the neck of a twelve dollar handle of Russian spirits.
I ponder the source.
The knowledge that I couldn’t commit.
The prospect that he didn’t want me.
Or the fact that this gallon of vodka isn’t enough.
For tomorrow is still going…
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