Wearing Hand-Me-Down Arson


I was set on fire once and I

there is nothing that I
fear and crave with
quite the same brutality
than the days in between
my highs
unable to call them lows
they’re emulating car crashes
I’m eating survivor’s guilt
and whip lash
it’s nights that follow days
without the sun
sweating somehow against nothing,
maybe high beams
I grew irrelevent to celestial objects
I disowned astrology

in my highness I ask for water
and sympathy
I did not ask for this to be beautiful
they hear me cough
and give me oxygen donations
the flame grows
and fits me like a hand-me-down
so if anyone asks
it’s not mine
I just live in the corner
of the body that grew it
waiting for the rest of me
to find a reason to visit.




(this is part of a series I am going to do on Addiction. this one is from the perception of the Addict. also, my recitation of it)


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