Thursday, November 21, 2013



 I see your text, 
 lay the phone down, 
 and put my pen to the paper. 


 I used to write champagne-infused chocolate strawberry love poems about you. 
 Now, I write gunpowder and fire packed tragedies. 


I see another one of your texts, 
press my lips to the paper, 
and light a match RECK.PAPER.FLAME

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