poetry

Flushed

Whatever gets you through the night, babe.

Sure, I’ll tell you you’re handsome-

‘I can’t decide if it looks better off or on.’

Yes, I can pretend you’re the only one-

‘The only one for me.’

 

‘…Babe?’

Just don’t expect me there

In the morning-

‘I told you I was destined to leave.’

It’s not you,

It’s just the lights,

They have a habit

Of flushing out the lies.

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