104.3°

i haven’t
given up
i have simply
given away
the best parts
of myself
to the universe
cut off mementos
to hang from
the trees
and the faint
rattle is all
that remains
of a fool in
a scorched silhouette
where fevers
flared frightful
frozen flames
ashes drift to
settle in an
inken solution
with which to
pen poisonous
prose onto the
sickled edge of
the crescent moon

the ceiling is
covered in i love yous
an infinity of
fluttering wings
waving gently
a silent symphony
of softly blown kisses
washing over a
sadism of sickness
in spasmodic coughs

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