Paris.

I slept alone in a stranger’s bed.

My skin stretched in slits from your knife’s kiss.

Took the bits I’d hidden, and used them as bait.

Two weeks I still can’t see,

blurred by candlelight and early dusk.

Still taste the loss and last words buried on my tongue.

 

Heal me, Pair-ee.

Teach me about love and cigarettes.

Teach me tricks on moving on.

Bad habits + band aids don’t stop the blood.

 

Homeward-bound, weighted-down.

Grey skies and weepy clouds.

I never thought I’d be this one.

 

Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.

 

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