Addiction
You
borrow death
and nestle
in
your dreams,
your bloody hands
still hold
the
stolen roses
with their thorns.
somewhere lost between
your home and God,
you know not what you do.
Your hour glass is broken
even now.....
the sand is blowing there
across the moon,
your calendar congeals
in smoke and tears,
and still you kill
the pain
with poison brew,
a slower death....
and one that kills me too.
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