I hope you think of me every time you feel air brush up against your skin, that moment of denial when you think I have gone, that it did not matter, because it did matter, it will always matter.
In a surreal and orphaned state of
solitude, practically drunk on the euphoria, nostrils wide in
anticipation of each inhale; breath falls open in operatic crash.
Extending beyond the confines of my body, my pulse ignites vapors in the
wind. Biting back in a forced torment, my pores now smolder.
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