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Hemlock is a hell of drug

August 19, 2018

Pierce me every second.
I only wanted
to care for my youth
but it was too late;
your breast pressed,
we danced like it was never,
nowhere, never happened
never will, but still
this artifact
like a suffocating tapestry
falling down
just before the jewel
touched my hand
and slept shadowy
-I was your constellation,
wept when I could-
or the sky sleepy
full of hope and clouds
and birds’ silhouette
finally at last singing
the hills white with bleeting
even if they don’t know how
resting and screaming,
blessed, beaming,
burned through me
and once last sip
to keep me here
seeing and living.

From → Poetry

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