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  • Writer's pictureErin

ninety days sober

ninety days sober

and a week ago I washed

my hands

of your sins.

the blood drained

from my face

and the weight

lifted from my shoulders.

but the tightness in my chest


nothing prepares you

for the fall of

what you once

believed to be your


nothing prepares you

for the craving of

normalcy, like a drug.

ninety days sober

and I'll forever

be washing

the crimson blood stains

of your soul from my hands.

the same soul

that pulled apart my own

like prey to your


because that's all

you'll ever provide,

darkness in a sea of light.

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