The cold smoke coils
Hanging in the reaches of my breath
Define the moments
Hanging in the reaches of our being.
I'm remembering
That your body is a wasteland,
And lying still,
As my veins bleed into themselves
Relentlessly.
I tire by wandering
The endless halls
Of alternate possibility
Until I give up
On my fantasies.
It all just feels
Like swimming through the hands of ghosts.
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