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Chronic

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Cough syrup drips
Down my face.
I am not sick.
I just like the flavor
That blankets my tongue
And sticks it to
My mouth’s floor.
I like how it makes
My eyelids droop
In a purple haze
Worthy of Hendrix.
It lets me shut
Everything out.
It turns my face to
A stoic paper mache
Mold of the sleepy
Smile it gives me.
The best part is
That no one else
Can see it.






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