I know I should say goodbye.
I should probably just walk away and let you go.
But Paris has me hooked on you like whore on cash money.
Like a dealer on clear crystal.
Like the girl doing lines in the bathroom.
Like the overweight, out-of-shape, middle aged alcoholic on a bender.
But I can't let you go.
And that's the problem.
I need you too much.
I can't let you go because poetry is free and therapy sucks ass.
Because I need you to breathe.
I have continued to read your blog ever since our class ended. I love your posts & it made me so happy when you commented on my blog. I thought now it wouldn't be weird commenting on yours, haha. keep writing forever because I will always be reading yours.
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