Beecher St.

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Lilac and babies breath

forget me not and thorns

Poke through skinny scratchy itchy red scorn

Itching itch scratches on an apple Granny Smith

etches like chicken claw tac-toe-tic

 tastes too sour

an aftertaste of sugar

tired and  fleeting

its humid I'm believing

Memories etched in head

of people I can never really forget

It's late and I'm bleeding

Red lipstick thoughts are succeeding

Distractions, distractions

Only with the sun

smells like lavender

purple sour taste

gun barrel! gun barrel!

shoot me in the face

Brown spidery pointy- lilac smells

a vague distant memory from my déjà. Vu spells

when I was young 
and he didn't really exist

I had thorns, soap, sour taste

but nothing quite like this

Only today am I on fire

a mirror no longer whole

I remember I remember

The memories I once stole

of the spider thorn flowers

and the purple sour taste

of the scratches and the skid-marks

shoot me in the face!

today I remember

I bear a taste in my mouth

of something evil and sour

technically down south

abandoned scentless mischief

reminds me of when I was young

of the days when smells would give me

far too much fun

and now and now

I'm dead and a disgrace

gun barrel! Gun barrel!

shoot me in the face!

Before the bad things happened

And pass out shall commence

He's now only a memory

nothing but past tense

Look at me look at me

pathetic little runt

alone alone and empty

purple-grey ,a dunce
And now

the flowers cant ever really believe

that I was happy once.

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