Nights Like These

nights like these make me want to get hold of the rope Sylvia has been dreaming of in her twenties grab the rusting knife from the closet drawer and slowly peel the outer layer of my neck like fresh lemons from the market or the easiest is to inhale all the possible smoke polluting the air from cigarettes touched by my lips and mine alone nights like these where becoming like Iscariot is what I fancy the most nights like these where turning the volume down is inexistent turning the volume up until I can barely hear anything is the only living choice left nights like these make me want to gather tears into jars I collect for no known reasons and these tears I will wipe all over my body so that when they dry up my body comes with the process until I am nothing nights like these…

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