Wednesday, 2 October 2013


If we watch you
Crawl out of your skin
Does that make us complicit
In the slow unadulterated
Murder of self

A taking apart
As such

An itch that can’t seem
To be scratched
Unless it is broken and pulled
And left open
To the air
Inviting all that could infect
With open arms
To bed down and linger
And rot

Or does it makes us
As we choose to love
All you seek to destroy

Yet fail to prevent
The world from crushing
Life weary bones

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