The first time I let the skin of another woman
crack my spine open,
I fell asleep in the lace of her arms.
My mornings have not been the same.
I wake up and roll over to see the void in my mattress.
This has become a bad habit and I still sleep with my hair wet.
The sound of loneliness has become a song I've grown sick of.
She doesn't know what she wants.
I know I do not want any of her at this point.
My body has grown accustomed to being bitter.
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