Saturday, March 22, 2003

the sweat peels the skin off my back from the cloth lining the casket.the moths have gotten to it while i was picking salt off your exposed jawline.once a wound now just a welt,seething from the neglect.a soft shell for the fists to crash through.when did i go from defiance to silence?about the time i dicovered ink blots and concetrated pulp.

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