1-15-16 fifty four days clean
Like broken records,
We play out these parts of our lives on repeat,
Finding addiction within the sweet nostalgia.

We write love letters to the imaginary friends in our heads.
Taking heavy breaths while we near the end,
We inhale smoke and exhale flame,
Burning everything we consider familiar.

Maybe we're just stuck in a loop,
Unable to escape these portions of our lives that hold our hearts captive.
Maybe we're a bit too insane to live out here and now,
Too paranoid of the world to love anything again.
- (m.m)