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the body starts to accumulate
the hurt
the persistence of grief
in the bones
what crimes must i accept?
regrets pile like end of fall leaves
lying drunk in the cold, wet loneliness
until death do we part
i have always struggled with physical touch

perhaps its because
i received too much
all at once
and never quite understood
what i was being given

perhaps its a million other reasons
but it is too difficult
to understand the past
so for now I'm stuck with
my present longing
for some kind of touch
that doesn't make my skin crawl
the birds stopped singing some time ago and
i can't remember when they stopped but
that seems to be the pattern these
days and there's a candle lit that's
sitting precariously on the
corner of my bed and
somewhere in my
mind i hope that
something will
catch on fire
and this
**** hole

the warmth of the sun
butter in my eyes
a shuddered relief
with everyone of your sighs

the passion of the sun
flames that swallow
burn me from the inside
and leave me hollow
is a kind of sadness
taught in quiet bedrooms
or crowded parties
or any classroom
your mind decides

it is perceived
which means
what you see
is not the truth
and what you feel
is even worse than that

i'm not quite sure
what lessons that it teaches
but i'm sure after enough classes
i might begin
to understand
i cry when you look
at my
painted veil
in the breeze
it's a masquerade ball
and you're the king
i'm just the smoke
the gloom your mother told you to
look through
to find the one that shines
i cry when you look through me
oh i cry
a middle-aged suburban mother clutches
her purse with a shiny red claw and
a child in ***** overalls chews
on the last half of an apple green jolly rancher
a twenty something shows off
the tattoo on her arm and it
remember that you will die

the mother clutches her purse tighter

the child gives a green stained smile
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