Thursday, 1 March 2018

Vices - Poetry - 1st March 2018


You could be the cigarette
Hanging by the tip
Between my cold cracked lips
I could be your shot of liquor
And the pill that helps you feel
something more

An opiate based lover’s dream.

You could be all that I need
A way for me to feel
            something more
Thoughts of you multiply
They creep inside the cracks
Beneath the foundations

The parasite becomes one
with the host.

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