Repetition

He was weary, growing weak under abandoned sconce light
as the arms shift sideways– a diameter too fatal to count
how many nights she needed to live.

Pieces of us were left, cradled
like two bags of tea; one for him, one for she
and as she grew cold, he grew empty
and when she decided to come home,
she reeked of smoke and carried
venous halos along her neck.
At least she confessed.
At least she confessed.

Let’s promise to never repeat…

Let’s remember that money’s a delusion
and always share one cup of tea.
Let’s just find that “life” together
and make that all we need.

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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Life, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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