Quilted Person

this patchwork person trying to pretend

that the old ways have no hold on him

but knowing it's a lie

patchwork skin stretched thin across aching bones

and the skin aches, itches, begs to be parted

and to release the blood, and the endorphins and pain

these lungs that ache for the smoke

that is only truly pleasing from ten to two

these veins that crave for any chemical solution to this fucked up state

this patchwork person, has never been too well stitched together

and every night the stitches loosen just a bit more

but somehow still a recognizable and coherent whole

just more moody bitching

from yet another person covering up the flaws

with patches and temporary solutions.

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