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I love the little details
That decorate
Your body
Like fine art, gone unnoticed.
I knew a young boy
Who cut his own throat.
*******, was he beautiful.
I miss the feel of having
Smooth wrists,
Sides,
Thighs,
And shoulders.
Every bit of me
Is now an open wound to
Match my mind-
And everyone can see it.
Every bump on the way from
Grace,
Every welt that
Scars the temple,
Every time I made myself
More tainted
Through scarlet evenings
Just to sleep.
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