I held the sea, black bleeding
fingers, words flooding to
fill the gaps, fingers in holes
to stop the escaping. hands lacking the iron
spikes that have gone missing.
but need is fulfilled with sharp sucking
sounds and voids left
dry. I am left. I will
not die again. I will not release
to the prying fingers. There is no
twisted skin, there is
nothing much to hold and little time
for my blue eyes to see.
.
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