Taste Like Salt
Non-original pain.
Salty,
Polished,
Brief,
Lingers...
Moment to turn away
Unaided,
Dented,
Exposed,
Naked,
the outlines of your words falls perfectly idiomatic. Silicate of buried pain.
Your voice is ringing the moment I ascend from the 3 am window chill,
only to find web of displacement. Fastened.
We dress as friends, but I fall like a lover.
This thing is suicide.
in memory of G
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