The Aftermath



I’ll leave a trail of devastation behind
and you’ll still have no one else on your mind

The after taste is bitter,
metallic even,
but you keep a vial of me around your neck,
sipping it,
slowly killing yourself off,
suicidally attached,
visiting me in my dreams,
expecting me in yours.

Barren your house,
it creaks awaiting my grease,
for me to unhinge your rusty doors
and allow my wind to pass through,
just so you can catch a waft of me,
as devastating as I am a tornado,
you long for  the wreckage.

Broken planks and shards of glass,

splintered feet and molten hearts,
is the pain really worth me?


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