Bags under the eyes
And all around, bleeding black
Scorned and scratched to receive the light
A light slipping from sore grasps
Fingertips burning, pressing hard
Noise furrowing and echoing the pupils
Gnashing, swallowing, laboring
Pushing the dead, fetid fetus out
Slamming on the notes now
The black bags ever sink
Mind refuses to positively think
And rather catastrophically wired
To the ever-slipping fires
Betrothed to your liking...
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