Choosing sides is a game for original sinners and I know I wasn’t given a slice of that apple, so I lost faith in your waistline a long time ago and now I get your parables: write last sentences on morgue walls like tablet laws, I still will remember the gut aches of god giving us all we could handle. I handled it like a noose in New Jersey. I swallowed you like a warm beer in Septembers. I gave myself a memo that said, “My stomach hold only salt water now that I can die any day, forget what it was like to be splendor, everything is a dandelion dried wish.” I want to stop calling her your name every night.


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