Angelbreath a.k.a mania

Lord, lord, you are a fever.
my molly
my cigarettes,
unfiltered
scraping
I do not recall
the dreamland
of death
(that was what it was
not love)
and yet
you left me tearing this chain
from my neck
pressing burning milds
to my lips
carving nail marks
in my palms,
crying out in sleep
to let me go.