Thursday, October 20, 2016

stale air

there are soundtracked conversations between us where I see future in your eyes and taste love on your breath like a fog. these words are fossilized, purified, prescribed for my own abuse. I fill a needle with nostalgia and follow the usual process:

deep breath in, exhale

fresh oxygen mixes with the stale air in my veins, takes the pain down just enough to stay conscious. I hold my breath to feel every moment that will never return, reveling in the backdrop of fireworks exploding across my eyelids.

deep breath in

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