there are thorns
that have tasted my blood
on paths you have not
dreamed of crossing,
my hands have grabbed flames
that gobbled marshmallows
from fires that have never
burned your insides,
there is no ice in your eyes,
none around your heart
you've never felt the twist
of a rusted blade in your gut,
you've never crinkled your eyes
to the relentless desert of yearning,
you've not needed, wanted,
preferred death,
or laughed hysterically
at the futility of prayers
when you woke up to taste
yet another day break,
then why are you supporting
my rum-soaked walk
under dust infected stars?
why are you in my head?
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