Monday, June 6, 2011


wrists with a desperate
tingling sensation
all there is to do
is bind them
to each other
weaving them into
a coiled rope.

scratching my nails
against the hard bark of a
tree. hacking away
the chipping bricks of
bark. such a loud
shriek it's soul makes.

there it is the living,
vulnerable green
that weeps sap
all over my fingers
and pleads me to stop

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