cologne on my writer’s desk

one violet:

what i have left of your love.

i leave it close enough to

touch in my dreams.

a bottle of cologne:

what i have left

of a company

that at dead of night

cannot kiss me to the same sleep

as a night with my lover

laying as close to me

their scent does now

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maturity is killing me as fast as oxygen

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self-destruction masks itself as liberation (a list of false equivalences)