Untitled Writing
 

The sun is still up
as I leave the bar.
The warm, dry air
mixes with the drinks
spilling over my senses
like red Kool-Aid on a white sheet;
staining...numbing them further.
The last, long rays of the sun
cross over my min
illuminating
all that I was trying to
forget

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Jazzcat

writing Jazzcat
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