Sunday, February 24, 2013

perhaps theres something poetic about my
blood on your hands
it's comforting, i suppose, that i may be equally as vulnerable
[i am]

a rabbit, heaving and twisting and waiting for hounds
a deer racing it's thin-legged heart out
(great big headlight-eyes, windshield glass like confetti[congrats you're
dead])


please, you're beauty in the morning-
and you're quite literally[you hate when i say this word]
scaring yourself to death, my dear. 



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