Obsessed
There are times when running is the sanest of options,
not your mundane jaunt with denial,
neither your drink to the bottom,
breathe your last line, fall numb into cotton clad,
king sized paradise for one, kind of run,
rather a save your ass before he crawls in
and steals the skin out from under your feet kind of run;
no test
from the local administration,
just in case fire breaks out
exit here kind of drill,
this is the real McCoy,
you've seen the look before on that junkie down the street
staring through the needle as if one more minute without a blink
and in the plastic he'd be; one with the gods of oblivion,
there's no time here to vacillate, hesitate,
flutter
your spring time wings
like some over zealous butterfly
hell bent on the deep purple taken up next to the daisies,
no this is when you slip on those five inch,
man made,
stainless steel reinforced spiked heels
and march your proper, pinky finger lifting,
beer or wine drinking, gorgeous ass right out of dodge
and find someone, somewhere
who wants you more
and needs you
less.
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