CAMBRIDGE

fire place with tourettes. pop and crackles in depth
drunkenly asking questions I wouldnt dare. I was shy
recherché brunette, with curlicue braids in her head
there’s a reason wine glasses are in the shape of a Y
fork in the road, left or go right, slicing tension with knives
I went left, it felt right. spooning you cus’ the etiquette’s nice
drinking the truths I fed you, intoxicated with lies
sedated and high. i’ve contemplated for help
what kills you isn’t the virus, it’s the inoculation itself
it’s what helps you, and what hurts you; it’s complicated as hell
whatever. that isn’t what I wanted to say
I wanted to go, but in jest I wanted to stay
it’s getting awfully late. capturing arguments offside
cured by clever wording, Cambridge-Oxford alumni
defunct and debased. aim the hair and the trigger
selfishly enamored with death. date at 8, before dinner
ignoring the nose bleed as I stare in the mirror
tighten my neck-tie. debonair of elixir
ignored the pain, hailed a taxi to a chain up in Gloucester
took off her pea coat, pulled up her chair, and with posture
stayed after pay. After lobster. Chatting crucially after
doodled on napkins. flirty exchanges on contours
draw a monster for me. now.. what makes it a monster?
Voodoo and magic, pin the needle on the doll
Incognito. High libido in the stalls.
torpedoed, and we fall. Mistaking distress cause i’m loyal
disrobing attempts at joy. sex as a crutch to enjoy you
aware, but yet not so. picked up on the influenced behavior
clues like, you were nice to me, but were rude to the waiter
apprehensive as creatures; egotistical shroud we bestowed
to, jealous of the fires made when I was set out in the cold
mistakes are subjective. practicing repetition til’ death
like a photo out of focus is a blunder, but ten are a trend
ambien, ambiance, ambulance.
a picture of you in a locket near my hearts strings
open it up. learning to stop looking for happiness where i lost it

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