Sipping mercury mercury martinis on a purple cloud

I lose it

like I always lose it.

In between the sheaths of things 

tucked behind the boxes

of inevitable losses 

that tommorow brings

calcified in the dribble of all

I'm yet to forget 

to leave behind,

untill al thats left

 is the shreds

of my lost mind

untill my lips taste like mercury

and I just tilt my head back

and drink

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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