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Mar 2014
Give me another round
of whatever black poison you're sipping
before I stagger back
heavy lidded eyes and
sagging posture, so
out of breath
slippery palms refusing to uncurl
around the cheap plastic handle
of an old kitchen knife

Let me flounder and swipe at you
scratch the wallpaper
pierce the cabinets and your clothes and
scrape your skin with
tired flimsy steel,
pupils flickering, burning wicks
with the anguish of a pacing wolf
that can't remember who she is howling for

Shaking, we dance again
and again and again
flashes of metal and regret
unsent letters
broken records and television screen static
replaying the same three seconds
back and forth
back and forth
blood dripping from the ceiling of my imagination
until I am foaming at the mouth
and your pain smells like the tranquility of justice served
level ground
fresh soil

I am trembling and
I cannot dig deep enough to end you
But I lunge forward anyway and drive the knife
so firmly into the wooden block that my wrist is bruised
and your shirt is torn across the chest
and I've crashed into your arms
trembling because
I cannot dig deep enough
to let go
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