The past catching up to you tastes like gray smoke,
like ash, filling up my lungs once again when you decide to come into my life again.
The past catching up to you tastes like red blood,
metallic and so sweet, yet so forbidden.
The past catching up to you tastes like clear wodka,
burning away every feeling until I am numb.
The past catching up to you tastes like cold coffee,
brewed in the morning and untouched until late in the evening.
The past catching up to you tastes so familiar,
yet so wrong.
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