Tuesday, 28 November 2017

Lover

Cheap bottles of whisky
can't even close my eyes;
I lie awake endlessly
scribbling afterthoughts
and delusions
only to burn them to smithereens
later on at dawn.

Maybe you're crazy to
believe I'm crazy.
Maybe I'm crazy
to believe I'm sane.

Stop slithering in
to feed on my apnea.


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