Murder my Sins.


I’ve heard of an eternal summer
that I never saw,
stole a million spotlights
they stole hundreds of my nights…

Their eyes were supposed to open
unto splendid souls..
but  they were quite empty
and barren as my own.

I moaned at ten thousand stars,
rusty ceiling fans,
a gecko on his wall,
but not once in his eyes.

Each time ecstacy
truly felt like mine,
I found what I was to them;
just another glass of wine.

Each morning I left
with a pouch brimming with bills,
hoping the cigarette I smoked,
would perhaps murder my sins.


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