A sharp intake of breath.
The still frame flickers.
My dusty head full of
pink, shapeless noise,
a budding melody unsung.
I am afraid
to have a voice of my own.
A hangover croak patchily recalls the
lioness roar, the room hushed.
Peering whites on a black
background fixated. You stole
the creaking and the fidget.
Pin pricks, brimming eyes
and thumb-sucking. I drank
the anguish and tasted nothing.
I stepped out into the slippery night,
my wounded lungs oblivious,
devour shards of darkness.
Smoke filled exhalations
and clothes that reek of
stale consequences.
Memory lingers like a
jet stream on a clear blue sky.
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