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Mar 2013
If I am an
attention seeker,
let me carve the
words into myself like a
a definition of a
four-lettered name.
I am more than
nights of spinning and
razor in my hand,
moving like a silver
dancer through my fingers,
but there it is,
tracing my veins as a
pencil traces paper,
drawing patterns up and
down my arms in permanent
red paint.
Let me tie a
hairband around my
wrist and snap it until my
veins fashion welts,
red over blue on
placid skin,
vines through to my
fingertips, thorns under my
nails with ******
red blooms like
cigarette burns.
Let me cry underneath street
lamps, audible to the
world, open and
vulnerable like the
new cuts on
my skin.
Dani Huffman
Written by
Dani Huffman
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