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Some nights I smoke cigarettes
And chase with liquor,
but nothing gives me more heart burn
than the memory of you carved inside it.
I'm not an alcoholic
and the only thing I'm addicted to is you,
and the void I try and fill to replace you.
it's only destroying my outsides
as you destroy my insides.
I honestly don't know which will win the race.
I can't fall asleep to save my life
and so here I lie practically dead,
in a coma of the various shades of my life
but you're my favorite color of insomnia.
Synesthesia is a great party trick
but it's not as fun to always
be consumed with the colors of the words
racing through my mind.
And the dreadful feeling of dim grey,
knowing you're gone.
the longer I think of you,
the more bright and shocking
pops of yellow and blue flood in.
Then come the deep reds
and the magentas that devour me
But I always end up back at grey.
The cycle repeats its self
until I fade out of it all,
not remembering how or when,
I just wake up to that same ringing in my ears,
until the rest of my senses kick in.
by the same hues of the day.
Though dependent on the season,
until they too become-
and a color all their own.
A lot of said memories are mixed and faded
but those of you
have never been anything
but clear and vibrant.
So in the morning,
or whenever I may arise,
it's easier to let the pigments
do their regular dance routine
than it is at night
when they swallow me whole.
But the nights I see
your levels of intensities,
those are the good nights.