Sober Sundays
Sober Sundays
We Had Money for Medicine
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We Had Money for Medicine

#Prompt 97

It’s all poison.

The well. The pipeline.
The love. The friendship.
The flighty beginning. The torrid end.
The embrace. The wave.
The before. The after

We know
Nothing leaves the body
quite so violently as an unplanned exit

still, we drink to not starve
still, we talk to shed the loneliness
still, we commune to be counted
still, we arrive to be affiliated

losing ourselves in pieces until there’s nothing left,
Saying it’s only poison,
at least we lived.

Music: Medicine by Daughter

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Sober Sundays
Sober Sundays
Every Sunday, a new poem or story by Obii
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