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Leave. Run. Now.

Strangers rubbing cold hands up your thighs
leaving oily trails,
whispering "Just how you like it, right?"
They're playing charades again.
Smoking cigarettes, wearing shifts,
burning pain into your synapses.
 
Life is a needle and now it pricks you
again.
It is the silver light that makes you realize
your poor, brief attempts at decadence tire the earth.
They  tire you.
 
Go lay your black dress on the bed.
Step out of those heels you've worn out on sidewalk cracks.
Drown your licked mint and sugar from that cocktail mixer.
Sing nonsense songs!
but please, little girl, don't let those strangers sing along.
This is the damp voice in your ear saying
Leave. Run. Now.
while you still know what you will become.
heyycyanides
Written by heyycyanides
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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