Thursday, May 7, 2015


Perhaps we should have been more prepared, the scent of death is upon the air, & she wears it (so well) like stitches taken out too soon. An exposed open wound, a mind already consumed. They crawl at our ankles biting our feet, how do you stay above while pulling beneath? (where are they dragging me!?!?) consumed by the meek, like layers of depression (like) layers of flesh between teeth. Your eyes write words that the world can't read, as if the only person who can translate can't speak & how can they say such gloomy things like "we are all gonna die today". And like cold air on lifeless lips, your eyes whisper that it'll all be okay.

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