Hindsight
You were the quiet
of an empty syringe
ready at any moment to either heal me,
or slowly and addictively kill me.
You were the quiet
of broken glass in the street.
You showed evidence of past abuse,
but also had potential to pop other's tires.
You were the quiet
of embers.
Always ready to suck the oxygen from around you
only so that you could reignite yourself.
Now you are the quiet
of a used noose.
Smugly swaying in the wind
without a care in the world,
awaiting the touch
of your next victim's throat.
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