So funny how I feel under the influence, without being under your influence
(In a good way. That blushing continuance where everything is different)
It’s the effluence of the mental influenza; you condemned me too.
I was THERE EVERY FUCKING SECOND; you left me clues.
Indications are vindicated. Nightfall traces of a silhouette,
Cigarettes. You might as well put it out in my eyeball.
It’s daunting.
The pernicious environment you live in out of loyalty,
Poison you absorb, and now your abuse becomes poetry.
Scars become stories, blisters that cover up his visage.
Nothing says “been through it” like discolored skin pigment.
Hahaha.
It’s like I’m stuck in a trance, a hypnotist’s wet dream.
Mentally dissident. The sexiest hypocrite you know.
The distance between being in love and being in blackness.
(P.S., I needed stitches on my wings where I was freed from your talons)
The flood of neurotoxins flushing its way out,
Gushing my oval office; concussions abstain now.
The eruption of euphoria. So scrumptious.
It’s like a volcano disrupted by the angel of covenants,
Streaks of rainbows thrusting. It’s lovely.
I love it, the luscious extremist, with illustrious features,
A noxious stream, like irony. The paradox created.
The only way to describe it would be… intoxicating.
Is anybody reading this?
Intoxicated by your lies, too intoxicated by life.
In love with not being in love,
Flipping coins, landing on ‘In God We Trust.’
Can’t wait to hold another hand, no better yet, a hand to hold mine.
Tiny explosions, farewells that bode time,
Palm reading, like pictures, bonfire and ripples.
Cosign my initials on the dotted line of this carbonized puzzle.
The crisp cracking of fire logs that reminds us that fiery passion can crumble,
And after hours of ember, nothing’s left but rubble and smolder.
Deflower December. I’m here to dismember your power. It’s over.