Stainless words like razorblades,
I'm mostly sure that they are mine
flicker in the back of my mind
like a rain drenched 3am.
Twine and string of inadequacy and boredom,
smoothed by my curling fingers,
strand by strand into a beautiful braid
of never again
and I wish I never had.
The walls now smell like my old tweed coat,
just because you hated it,
and the dishes reek of your pin stripe suit
because they are all so fucking dirty.
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