I am tired
of being stuck between pages,
sticking to you like grease and
your romanticism to call it honey.
Honey, I am tired,
honey I am not something to be talked about,
speak to me.
Honey, if your hallucination is driving your life,
how is it not real,
honey, let’s talk about us.
Don’t get stuck thinking dirt and glue
can work as honey.
There is just burnt
bitterness left in my throat,
and I get it from you.
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