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on a whim
why, you say? I have looked at your hearts, and on a whim, i will be on my hands and knees, on a whim, i will have wrists thinner than twigs, on a whim there will be mud caked on my heels, on a whim, blood, blood—
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emptied
make me, make me; the grounds are awake in spoonfuls of sleep; my toes tap soundless; i am singing between here and there, make me, make me; i have emptied out, make me, make me; there is nothing here and i am in love, make me, make me
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indexes
let me pull it all down, one slow blink at a time; bring it down my throat, i know it is for my eating; so don’t tell me to bow, don’t tell me i shouldn’t; don’t tell me there are lines, rules, indexes, i am not sure where they came from; i eat—
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edge
hmm? what’s that? you heard a whisper last night? the lake at the edge of my hair says, you have been walking the grounds barefoot just before the petals unfurl; that you had demanded banishment; and only the one voice remain—i like that,
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sticky
what’s that sickening sweetness, these fumes that demand me to flop over; melt into a puddle of sticky tar; i would like nothing else than to be inked over; there is not enough night to cover me; give me more; let me slurp that plop of darkness,
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chink
i am sure there is a crack somehere; a chink in the armor; made just for you, my achilles’ heel? oh, it’s right there, clip it. i am sorry? i left the back door open? come in; wrap that velvet strip around my eyes; let me tip over into the night, upwards is my downwards,
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seizure
don’t worry the initial seizure; rejection is natural to too much; let me foam over, eyes turned upwards, white; if breath stops; i have known a kiss like nothing else; press me under; make every beam, breeze, drop invade me; make it all bend to a single lift of my finger,
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tongue
you would like a bite out of this hand? an eye? or maybe tongue? ah…it seeps in like sickness; foreign, come in; what’s these limbs without you? the rose only bleeds for me; the lake ripples with my breath; every flick of these eyelash strings lies; now, bloody these lips, put on coals for eyes,
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what root
i will bite that apple, let it shiver down my spine; what’s starlight if it’s not on the streams of this hair? what root if it’s not wrapping me under? take me in my waking sleeping, every night, you say price? take all there is, i won’t bat an eye;
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white rose
stop it, every white rose that has come your way has tainted, for a thing that happened so far back—look back, you have to remember to look back, you have grown bigger than it; and yet you are unwilling to hold it; and so many hands have chopped under your seething eyes; you have been…
