19 3 17

27Mar2016 001217 0068 NYDC

you always remember on sundays like
clockwork perfect timing unlike every other day
my mind recalls the phantom pain of sharp claws
etching the world into my spine my skin it’s the
wallpaper of your abandoned house
left to face the consequences of mold and rot and time
it’s a bruise you press when you drop your words into
the cavern of my heart they fill it with longing and the
taste of warm white wine it’s like an anniversary
our sundays, our seventh day spent
with your head nestled in my neck listening
as your stammered through drug induced nightmares
beads of sweat on your forehead and
silent tears tinted midnight blue how
could i sleep a wink i never sleep on sundays
the day i came the day you left me on my own
to whisper to the dark

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