You smoked too much for your own good
never seeing your reflection,
the herbs and embers
coursing through your veins,
only laughing when you could
hugging a needle when you could not.
You bled too much to live
your broken muffled midnight cries
belittling the fire's destruction
bursting dams in eyes
that didn't belong to you
but bearing its weight nonetheless.
You are not forsaken
You are not forgotten
You are tears
slidding over a beaten bloody face
weighed down by the crown of scorn
who bleeds with you.
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