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Bubblegum colored nails making trails on the bedspread. Stray hairs in the sink from when I shaved my face. Tiny monuments made by smaller hands. Enough weight to split the great divide, such little sleep that we don't even notice. Our mouths hang slack, the glistening left on our lips. We were only honest when we were drunk and yelling, spinning in the shallows of our microscopic cosmos. Free kings and queens steadied by the hand of the next. The glittering smoke of eye-shadow. Pretty in the low lights of bars we'll never go back to. Counting kilowatts all the way back to the bedroom. Mouths against mouths. Spit to spit. Teeth to neck. We're snapping tendons to bend over backwards. Lost serpents wandering through overgrown grass. Find me the blueprints, find me the plans used to build us. How many bones, how many blinks in a lifetime, the lexicon, the index of lies we can construct inside our own minds. I'm making it impossible to breathe into anyone else's chest. The back and forth of inhale and exhale. The taste of rum, the after-dinner mint of your fragile, quiet hum. We are all we are here, in the back room of tonight. Nothing we can't fix with nervous hands and forward tongues. Nothing but a masterful combination of grasping limbs and hurried lungs. 

The sepulcher is wet with the dew that drips silently from your chin

A cut rock formation where you've come to lay out all your loves

Neat rows, stacks of bone, a testament to how...

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Torched palms in cold water

Rubbing alcohol cheeks

Long showers for the victims

Who decided to wake again

That the sun may humiliate them

It's an ugly tomb for the widow

An urn to hold...

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All I hear is the buckshot breaking on my skin

The shattering of short knives inside my mouth

I see dismembered wings of larks falling from the sky

All I want is for the world to...

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FROM: DR. ANDREW M. TELLERS, DEPARTMENT OF OSTEOPATHY, EDWARDS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL (HOTDOC874@EMMEDICAL.NET)


ATTN: ALEXIS RAMIREZ, PROFESSOR OF VIROLOGY, UNIVERSITY OF...

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I carve a door in my abdominal wall

Wind up the little toy soldier of my hope

And let him walk around inside me

Until I've got plastic bayonet scars on all of my parts

And cheap lead...

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I'm losing faith faster than I'm losing blood. 

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To be ashamed of something that once seemed so lovely

Is to be a lost island of useless human interaction

So I breathed it all in through the last smoke in the pack

And exhaled into...

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Edward Buckinski stared at the body of his gardener, Maurice. It was splayed across his dining room table, Maurice's skin already turning the gradated pale of ivory and deep...

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