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i am
a sigh - though
not the relieved kind;
i am
the kind exhaled along with
cigarette smoke and the scent
of
churning, bitter alcohol

i live and die on chapped lips and wintry nights and hopelessness
my purpose forever a question mark as i am
carried away, drowned out
by a dismal wind

the gale cries out his sorrows as he
stitches me into his side
my despair becoming his
my brain intoxicated by brittle, inky black worries
that are not
my
own

i am
freezing
i am
cardboard
i am
not
my
own

the pearly gates || poetry.Where stories live. Discover now