My skin pores breathe nicotine, inhaling
and exhaling me inside out, millimeter by millimeter,
I can not stand clothes when I am sleeping.
Waves of happiness overwhelm me on the
streets, at home or on the buses, nevermind his name.
The lavender from my heart has no use,
since the smoke is still embroidered on the
hairs that stand to grow in
the shadow of my blurred, bruised body.
Annie Ungureanu
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