to the whore with long black hair

when I think of you the lights start to flicker, the moon croons with the tone of a mob-made man. I think of the fruit, the thanksgiving dessert with extra cream, the soars on scrawny arms—colored with anorexia, and the stench of day old vomit.

to the whore with long black hair and flowery eyes: I love you, I really do at times; but the lunar bliss you gave me for nothing but shots of lingering hell

brings too many shadowy dreams…

https://www.amazon.com/Taste-Cigarettes-Memoir-Heroin-Addict/dp/1925417689

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