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Dec 2011
Your hands as white as skulls
piled atop one another
a tower on your lap
ghostly mouth pursed
empty eyes narrowed
muted
mutilated
anticipated.

My fleshy finger
touches your bone
cold
cold
cold.
Peachy pink,
my dreadful sink
into your vacant stare.
Elsbeth Willis
Written by
Elsbeth Willis
639
   --- and Ben
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