Monday, January 4, 2016

1050

1050

Your loud secret words
cling noticed
to my skin.
They ache and beg
for the softness.
You move like an
English indie movie.
Pain and violence.
Here the air screams with
every movement.
Acting as if true.
Blood strokes the lip,
Pain at each temple says different.
Traveling, traveling, traveling,
Hoping for someone to yell cut!

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