I sat,
solitary in a bar,
trying to drink away your cold hand,
from my shoulders.
Last night,
I watched my psychic,
tear you limb from limb,
and I loved it,
as much as I love you.
Loving you,
is dressing up in my best,
and drowning.
You want me,
but you want me to be alone.
I’m afraid of how acceptable I find that.
You are sitting on my shoulders,
like Britney’s snake,
hissing and sassing suitors.
I am resentful but relieved,
lighting a cigarette,
on the flames of our never ending affair.
Your hands pin mine to the bar,
I am breathless,
because I can walk out of the door,
I can leave,
I can go to the other side of the world,
but I will never be my own again.
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