The Poppies Were Dead Before We Reached the Fields

Watermelon unsettles an empty stomach 

Strawberry mouths, clean nails stained pink 

Pressed against strangers pasty palms 

They all pale in comparison to yours

The sun beats down 

116 degrees

Distresses and distracts me

 Evaporates my pain 

A sweat lodge to drain you, the toxins  

 

I see what I ached and stalled for reappear the next morning, yellow and green, your most and least favorite colors 

Mingled together in the toilet bowl, spewed from my lips, your most and least favorite 

A million balloons float in the sky 

Up where my mind flies high

I have been trying to pull it back to the earth but you no longer reside by my side 

And so there, my consciousness hovers

I am grazed by a thousand willing and wanting

My skin and theirs coated with a layer of grime 

Their sun baked lips enclose mine 

a poor substitute but my stomach aches a little less when I lay new reckless acts over  stale adolescent flashbacks 

A fresh coat of paint over peeling wallpaper 

You won't recall the way I smelled of cigarettes and sunscreen, spoiled fruit and Chapstick 

This time, for this story, you won't be around

You couldn't spot me apart from the crowd 

 

Thank god 

If I had to lose myself

you deserved to lose me too.

I hope I am now unrecognizable to you

 

 

 

 

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This poem is about: 
Me
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