Ceremony.

Numb until broken.
Threaten to leave me.
We’re at death’s doorstep,
and I beg you to be quiet.
It must be my end to means,
that I swim through one life
in an adapter.
He is hell bent on me,
and too marless for you.
He hands you a cup of coffee.
Rephrasal has yet to unfold
but has bloomed.
I lean over and spit in it.


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