Warning: no punctuation. I pity myself too much, it seems.
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Leftover Letters


You may be just another
cynical bitch
You may sit soaked
in your own flying spittle
but angry-at-the-world is
no longer acceptable
No longer accepted as sane

It takes guts to rage
but it takes defiant courage
not to smash
that last ashtray
(everything will be tupperware at this pace
in this case we'll celebrate)

Take another drawn-out
smoke
Smile at me through
unnatural Crayola lips
Waste yourself
because if you conserve yourself
through the night
the city lights will burn out impatiently
No one will want to stand in your glow

Low key, low key
you never learned that lesson
and we all have to pay
with
Time
Cases of Crystal Geyser
Scraped knees and hearts

You smell like
pad thai and souvlaki
Too cosmopolitan for
homemade

Don't come knocking on my door
asking for a cup of sugar
to sweeten up your lemon wedge life
Don't call at midnight just to
offer me the best years of your youth
I don't have it
I didn't take it
it's still in you and you don't even
realize it
(Don't like me because I have good handwriting

song seven is playing
and it triggers false memories)
Yesterday I may have loved
the way you moved
Today you are sluggish
and I cannot see anything that is not
Skin
Ink dye
Hair oil

This was not written for you
You disagree



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A bit different from what I usually write, but somehow I like it - it's more personal, more what-have-you.