If Bitter saw the world, she’d only see it being taken, swallowed like those chalky cures her doctors in their stretch-thin coats close fisted all her dollars every belly ache to heal. The same, and never better, Bitter’d wander where the pressure touched, and dealt another stroke she’d only fold. And wouldn’t it go simply if she traveled to the west today to gain a little light, but she’d deny, deny that ever broken smile a morning in advance, because, for Bitter’s long eroded moments, yesterday had gone and sold her round trip tickets watermarked with floods of cloudy days whose rain was heavy as the glycerin she’d hope to leave behind. So Bitter never left the rainbows painted monotonic on the grass by picket fences in the yards of little homes. But travel made a friend of her in time despite opinions when the night and Bitter crept in quiet edges off alone.

#London #UK

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