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Apr 2019
i **** on the patch of swollen purple on my thigh
pick the scabs my wounds formed
and dance around the beast's smoke

sometimes, i scream at him
tell him to leave
but he always screams louder

i need to bury him anyway
enfold him in the land of past selves and bad habits
and when i do
the light will pour in
as my heart grows golden roots
and the choir sings a chorus of release
while my body sways along

200419
Mark C
Written by
Mark C  19/M
(19/M)   
469
     --- and Fawn
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