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Aug 2018
my duvet once hugged me, now it morphs
into chains
that coil my bones to themselves and fix my fingertips to my fists and I swing my arms behind me clasped.
anything to keep you clean out of my system you see.

the night which once was dreams,
now  a prison.
the solitude confining me in shrinking walls and a drying mouth whilst my eyes tear open by the pounding crave.
the red slithers through their frail veins until the aching urge sends them to close;
to sleep.

morning you lie vestel. but your taste lumbering in my gum

- I wouldn’t say I’m an addict:
but you make it far too easy when you lie in the palms of my hands and dance in electric through my skin.
your hopeless pervading detains me from rehabilitation.
Part 2
The mornings
Written by
   Christie Moses
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