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She leaves poisoned needles in the air
all quietly waiting for someone to come
and disturb them, like a black widow
in a web.  There are bottles of wine

and brandy hidden in her closets and
under the table in her room.  She
clings to things, a shiny red backpack
with Chinese symbols she can't decipher,
a pink and purple pillow in the shape
of a heart.  There are bottles of diazepam

and lorazepam and things it takes me
several seconds to pronounce.  You make
me potions in the night, toss an extra
wool blanket on me, crawl on the floor,
cry on the white leather couch,
fall down the dead red stairs.  There

is something evil inside you but no one
would ever guess, covered by your Christian gas mask.
A made-up face and a pretty red suit.  
I dug through your underwear drawer and stole
the change out of it.   I ate one of your

cherry cough drops.  I looked at the beautiful
colorful faces my mother left behind, after you
stole them and hid them in your closet, for
no one to see.  There's a bottle in every drawer and

your psychiatrist called, and I hung up on her.

Do I use the word drug too much? It just makes everything sound better to me. I was going to call it Generational Killer, but.
Crunkworks Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2011
the ending is cold "your psychiatrist called, and I hung up on her." but it made me chuckle.
LivingThisChaos Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2011
No, I loved it as is! I don't think you overused any word.

This piece is amazing. It's metaphors really make you think hard about the situation, and the emotion in this is so powerful :heart:
cyberdelika Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2011
This is beautiful.
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Submitted on
January 6, 2011
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