​You are a December of drunken nights…
Of strangers whose mouths’ have hosted my lips and not my name.

A montage of memories,
captured in morse code,
throbbing words,
echoing in an empty chest.
You are the high in the trip,
           -a chaotic height to fall from
And you were the withdrawal,
           -the needle piercing it’s way out a                 vein,                       

leaving the residue of memory,
Of that  one time I had a drug of choice.
And it was love.
And it was you.


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