Black Blue Crow

My fever broke, but my other side of sickness would never know wellness truly. I didn’t mean to but I became the kind of person that knows their self oh so well; that everyone else would remain a stranger. I moved like a worm under the earth without any need for eyes, no need to see just feel; feel all my hurt pleasuring at times. Gradually I felt it happen… seeds burst becoming blades of grass poking out from the sand. Like the dirty needles that were plunged in my heart with every twisted kiss upon my lips creating a poison that slipped through my veins. All my love was suicide and all my lovers a simple razor blade. Drink me now like a sweet aged glass of wine in that love also ferments in the same way and grows more intoxicating day by day. Until you realize there is no cure as you count your blood drops repeatedly hit the floor in a beautiful haze.



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