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Ana Kruscic Oct 2012
And my blood stirred redgold, and the pit of my stomach shrunk into a seed of derision.
My neurons released from their chamber, an epileptic soul as consequence.
Pores opened like rabid mouths foaming and spitting liquid,
I stand in a sea, and shake my fright.
I dance my worries into a hurricane of lost words,
And transpose rhythm and insecurity by the deadly trampling
Of pillows.
Dedicated to my dear friend, Nebyu Yohannes

— The End —