frail soldiers wade deeper into the blood. the empty salesmen of time persistently knocking on our doors.
there's no way to love that hasn't been broken. there's no place to touch that hasn't been violated.
we are the animals that we are. a hierarchy of bone and logic drowning in the perpetuity of want.
the panic ebbs. the flesh is tamed. we are children of our mothers. we are the pendulum of our pain. endlessly solving an equation that has none.
the edge opens. like so many stitches unraveling. the wound festers. while we flaunt our useless medicines.
we die again and again. while we wait for the end.
our despair blossoms. like a a flower swallowing the sun.
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