New phone. Who dis?



Freedom was the day I deleted your contact, the day I vowed to walk away, the day I embraced silence. If you have nothing nice to say...

You're cussing a storm in a cocktail dress your mother wore when she was young
Red sun saint around your neck
A wet martini in a paper cup
You're a wasp nest, you're a wasp nest.

You were brilliant. You were broken. The tragedy was my inability to look away. I still don't know what happens when a volcano meets a tornado.

I wrote such snark; it was truth, even as my mouth was thick with lies. ah, but these days the only things I play are as such: memories; a woman's sex; my own weary legs; booze down the gullet. See? Oversimplifications are the easiest lies; I was broken; I was in love; I was lost in the woods I knew best.

Your eyes are broken bottles
And I'm afraid to ask
And all your wrath and cutting beauty
You're poison in the pretty glass
You're a wasp nest, you're a wasp nest
I couldn't look away. Now I simply can't believe I ever looked. Still: Something. I something; I survived. Did anyone else?

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