Saturday, October 11, 2014

A Note

I'm consumed by the pure narcotic strength of your memory, every aspect of which keeps me an inch away from reality, the excruciating emotional dryness of my conscious breaths. 

Reach out into my chest and draw an arrow from my quiver of self pity, shoot me from where I bleed this pungent heart of mine; maybe it would stop the pain from leaving me, and give me the last moments to hold on to your rose scent.

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