In this near-forgotten place,
I feel too weak to stand.
I’m holding these cigarettes
In my shaking hands
And for this moment
I’m the one more singed.
These growing reminders
Leave all the doors unhinged.
Some call it backsliding.
Some call it relapse.
But I’m the same old me
Curled up in Your lap
Tearfully pleading for
A beautiful resolution.
viewingcamelot 
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