muddled

she’s drowning in sobriety
she’s better when she’s high on him
but he is part of the wallpaper now
and it is getting thin in the slant of afternoon
that brings on melancholy
baby, not the kind that writes hit songs
but the sort that disintegrates trust
and loses track of time, the time
they were high together in the middle of the lake
and all the fishes knew their secrets

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