I can't tell where the sound of my lungs end and my heartbeat starts.
They blur together similarly to how his body and mine are entangled under the layers of blankets. From another perspective, no one knows who is who and what is what.
My lungs are so disappointed in me. I breathe in nicotine more often than I should.
I've poisoned my veins and liver with cheap *****
My eyes have grown sullen and heavy. Dark bags have found refuge under my tearducts.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
I can't tell where the sound of my lungs end and my heartbeat starts.
They blur together similarly to how his body and mine are entangled under the layers of blankets. From another perspective, no one knows who is who and what is what.
My lungs are so disappointed in me. I breathe in nicotine more often than I should.
I've poisoned my veins and liver with cheap *****
My eyes have grown sullen and heavy. Dark bags have found refuge under my tearducts.
This is just another stream of consciousness poem. They are the only ones in decent at I guess.
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