They
pulled the gems from
my
teeth, the heat
of
silence a hotbed for the crystalline.
Veins
golden I rubbed my
tongue
against the small pleasure of decay.
If
there was need
or
want would there be fingers
to
reach into my gagging throat to force
an
escape? What the flesh holds ridiculously
dear
the wires will not
loop
around. The grip of mortality
and
its baseless regulation of rot
is
lost in the red welt of days
.
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