Narcotic Skin

3:06am.

Living in our cardboard boxes,
we were always nomadic
laughing and screaming
as we ran into oncoming traffic.
Her skin is narcotic.
I am a fiend, her lips are morphine
and I'm starting to get nauseous.
The vertigo makes an open sign
start to read closed. xoxo.
Her fingers are frail
from the years we refused to ever let go.
Hallucinations in April
of fallen angels and powdered snow
and the only feeling was the bite
of unspoken words in the back of my throat.

Sawyer S.


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