a dark abyss
waits for me.
insects pour from my throat
choking my words.
how could anyone know
the way wounds feel
when they're stretched  
and pulled apart
with ***** of skin
hanging loose.
my scars;
they've faded
into translucent
breezes
that tickle the skin
a sort of itch itch itch
to remember the dark abyss
and purple veins
and when practical thinking
went amiss