Wednesday, January 12, 2011

untitled- work in progress

I want to feel the hot
Flow of blood
As it flies from
wounds newly formed
By shards of what was a portal
To an outside world or
Was it inside-
The calamity of slicing
My skin shredding like memories
Taken too early from the vine
Bitter; better to toss over the fence
The hot and thick fluid
The numbness that you feel
Only after you bleed
And the throb, throb, throb
Then coagulation,
Hardening into a scar
Or a memory- better-
A scar is a memory.
I want that scar.

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