Night falls harder than the heaviest trees in an empty forest.

Sitting in a frigid garage by my lonesome thinking thoughts of you.

Pressing my lips across this rolled up piece of white grape intoxication. 

Inhaling memories of when I would cry out at night while visions slept quietly in my head.

Deciding if a life worth living is worth the fight to be alive when this part of my story is unread.

Oh well

I’ll pencil in the new parts. Clip away the old. Fix it up with a delicate bow and call it some day soon. 

C. L Cunningham 


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