My wiser self
is none the wiser,
working the graveyard shift
of my depression,
I comb through vices,
my vices that suffocate
my self-esteem
in the covert narcissism
of facetiously poisoning her
with memories only in a name,
a place where love sheds its facade,
and our clothes hit the floor,
and gravity exists only between our lips.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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