eyes to the west, girl

8 Apr

you tell yourself

don’t waste poetry

though it comes

sliding out

electric eels

in your

throat

doubled over

on a curb

chunks of

coughed up

heart

birds fighting

over your pieces

at your own

damn feet

don’t waste poetry

though it feels

so

damn

good

to coat yourself

in molasses

then gasoline

then

eternity

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