I won't apologize for the ways I killed my sadness

Every cigarette lit burnt my lips
until I learned a proper inhale.
I found whiskey in places it didn't exist
collecting more bruises from strangers
without faces or names
than I care to count.

Your face is burned in me like
a branded piece of cattle
waiting the slaughterhouse.

These city streets have seen the worst of me,
while the remaining parts
lay somewhere between
where you fucked her
and where I left your lies to rot.

04/29/2015

Posted on 04/29/2015
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