soft pats on the stairwell
an uneasy greeting
a murmured response
through the mindless haze of night
through the thick smoke of death
I shift inside
I wasn’t always a shadow
flushed face
a crown of poison oak
avoidable
if a keen eye is kept
but in this nocturnal
reflective state
I fall prey to the gentle call
the soothing features
I wasn’t always a shadow
slurred speech brings about
a slurry of names and angles
wine mingles with winces
a chemical cocktail called acceptance
once you’ve lost it
your best will never be enough
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