Saturday, June 12, 2004

Seven Minutes

i am your slow suicide, a cheap thrill, a five-minute diversion. i burned your eyes and clogged your throat, and we liked it. i was your last half-smoked cigarette that you ground into the dirt under your heel. my light has gone out prematurely, but it's probably oll for the best, seeing as i would have taken seven more minutes off your life if you had inhaled all of me.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Circa Now