the choice

Please do come back, shove me into the heaving blood-velvet couch again, crush my ribs with your love as you whisper to me again all the reasons I deserve to die.

Whisper me to the bottom of an urn coughing with the imprints of my own mistakes,

blind to the clarity of painted autumn trees,

whisper a silent rain that drowns me by the brain

as I stand here waiting for the clock’s fingerless hands &

thinking morbid thoughts.

Stay with me, please stay, misery.

For every time you leave the ears echo with flatness and the couch stops beating torn-heart’s blood and I feel



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