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Oct 2012
all spaces pulse in tight air and silent gasps and you’ve developed claustrophobia in the length of an hour. increased in his presence, all the lights have become interrogants

your ears pop more than once to disappear maybe probably. the hardening of your compact inner skin is about to crumble in the hollows of your skull and bleed into the voice always being there had you not chosen to tune in to sell out to the only show in town

you wanted to be abandoned but not like this

by some magic you continue to accidentally ***** yourself while he’s holding you holding yourself and you try to stiffen your limbs into thinking they can make hairs stand on end this way probably maybe when you grind your teeth into a fine, damp powder

and when all you need is water

sapping the gruff heat from out the driest desert patches of skin and lifting your overly long hair off away from its tired hang off the skull and you can only believe this now for until

you’re back again

the degrees climb up the walls and stench the room stale with the sweat you ache

he aches differently

your fists red and clammy like little bawling snot toddler fists and you are four again
fourteen forty times and your fists will give up soon but

your fingernails have disappeared into your skin and his breath is very loud over your shoulder right in the ear whistling icy and there is bittersweetness stilling under your tongue

you want to cough to sneeze to explode to make your whole self vanish
Written by
Devan Proctor
902
   Dreiliece
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