I Intend to Butter my Bread

This is the color of my ache. This is what it looks like inside every channel I've got. This itch is especially tiresome. I can feel it as potent as a poison but with every dose there exists a chance of a cure. 

Everlasting gamble

Despite all odds, I take that bet nearly every chance I get. And did I mention how worn out I have gotten? How hope is distant and even my memories are starting to flee. They are being carried far away from me. It is the future me doing the heavy lifting and I will sing again. 

 Decay

I will do as I always do. I will say prayers. I will get up every day, even after those dreams that I get. Alchemically, I'll turn all these ashes into some relic. There is no spark in me to ask the stars to grant me just one word to you. Even the planets are averting their eyes. Let it die, they digress.

Cosmic facade 

All things boil down to a choice and I am choosing to up and quit. Quit you like I smoked my last pack. Quit you like a hangover the following morning. Quit you like an ache in the pit of your stomach after all those immediate delights. Refusal to wager any ounce of happiness I feel. 

Debut 

The thought of you, redundant. It is turbulent work to build you in a light that makes it make sense. All of this, nonsense. I kiss your essence and send it away, at great lengths. I intend to butter my bread tomorrow morning. Taking it slow, as I do. I do as I please. It's all for me now. 

I have an indiscriminate sympathy for absolutely everything.