cranberry cartel

stark conversation in between the glimpses and glares, like we’ve reached a point where we are so comfortable floating in the water or maybe it’s because we’re silently drowning. No, we’re no longer putting up a fight against the call of seabeds because love is an expensive antioxidant becoming bottlenecked by competitive cartels of your desires and mine. The fruit has become toxic.
Maybe it’s better this way, sometimes I regret not prolonging my stay but I could never see myself being limited to one dealer, at least not yet. Passion fruit is some type of commodity and succuclent flowers are gut wrenchingly stunning with or without me. Your product was but one of the finest and I was just another consumer but I’ve gone for broke and I can’t afford to cast a second heart on my sleeve. Organs are expensive, even in the makeshift bazaars of dark alleys. As all addicts do, I found myself in rehab. The rehab facility’s motto “Bettering your tomorrow” but today was just like yesterday and tomorrow will be just like next week. It’s better this way. I’ll eventually get back on my feet, but I long for the days where I was three feet deep in the pits of your eyes. They say there’s other fruit in the tree, but none will be like the fruit that floats in its own little sea.

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