Monday 11/21/2016 11:45:00 PM

hate is its own medicine. in a cancerous world poison is worshipped. to kill the disease everything is wasted.

the scab whsipers its devotion as the flesh pushes it away.

she said she didn't know. never had. what it meant. that grave moment. when everything is perfectly focused.

she laughed. like it didn't hurt. to know. that it was over.

she traced the fractures in the bones. the art of weakness. wobbly ladders across deep crevices.

she negotiated gravity's tentative rule. changing its mind on more than one occasion.

she knew. the futility of choices. the stubborness of flesh..

as the future stumbled into itself. she stipulated to the heavy clarity of want. but deferred to the weightlessness of truth..


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