
gradually, these lamentations condensed into a large mass, until finally they metamorphosed into something completely different.
tiny pieces, forgotten names but memorized faces. i'll carve you back into the figure you were meant to be.
the pungency of goat shit and week old blood fermenting across street corners
a sheared off hip, and thin lips stitched shut to drown out any unnecessary condemnations
putting a candle to your figure does not put you in dismay like subtle ruin
desperate lacerations of overgrown fingernails, bites from under-developed canines
smell of fallen rain on concrete too hot to walk on, a static mind with a big smile from the burning sensation
your filthy bulbous face, and the tongue you point towards me from between your yellow teeth in dismissal
a vague resentment and a vague feeling of guilt both of which resonate together to ensure neither feels right
a self-contained mind interrupted by a spray of scalding water