Coffee stains
On everything,
Including me
Cigarettes
Perfume me,
And my bag contains
An empty bottle
Of gin
These are my vices
(well some of them)
I love them like I love-
Sunshine, trees
And The Lake.
What does this say about me?
That I would die for love?
(I’ll love you to death my darling)
Or-
That I love what kills me,
For that very reason?
But I don’t want to die,
Truly, I don’t.
So why?
Because it feels good,
“she loves it” echoes in my head
“Because it feels good”,
I answer.
My manifesto-for life
My rationale
Rhyme and reason
What I boil down to
That one simple impulse-
Feels good, doesn’t it?
Hedonism
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