good intentions don’t want my love anymore

by suicidallyanonymous

Kidnap my attention,
and drag titanic raindrops
behind the curtains
of broken arithmetic

[one times zero still equals
a black hole and a bartender].

The kitchen clock
can’t wipe Wednesday’s brow
with epileptic fingers,
and the fridge throws hate
in the form of dismembered
chicken wings

[we’ll weep grease for
the bleak absence
of our backbone,
as it melts on our tongue].

Sunrise tastes like melancholy,
but I want to molest your lips

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