Bottle caps are lying on the ground in front of me.
They shine a dull muted sort of lustre.
As if they know something hidden from me.
Wiser than I could ever be.
Telling stories of past inebriations.
Stories of heart break stories of violence.
Bottle caps still smell like liquor inside.
Bottle caps are vile.
o h / m y / f u c k i n g / g o d
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