December 18, 2016

You Are Not My Story To Tell




You're a story that should taste
like a 
shot of fireball
on my tongue, stripped of tastebuds
that are
stuck to a pole 
in the
beginning of January.

Instead,
you're a story that falls 
from 
my mouth, like loose teeth,
like projectile vomit,
after shots of whiskey,
between glasses of hard cider
that I keep throwing back
to keep my mouth occupied
because

you are not my story to tell anymore.

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