Friday, December 13, 2013

a little south of sanity-


i've killed three dozen men in my stories and only brought one back
but my writing teacher tells me
it doesn't count.


occasionally, I get so down that I can feel the
blue in my eyes throb.
the worst is when you remember the way
you popped
at your stitch.

here's what the doctors don't tell you-
your insides look exactly
like what you always expected. your skin is
elastic layered on meat layered on lake and it'll
gape forward the second you open the door.
and under is the
part i never got to see.

the worst is when you wonder if, one day, you'll know whats beneath,
the worst is when nothing is wrong.

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