White horses gallop where I cannot.
They feed on a poison thing,
That thing is you.
They tear at you.
Bruising your flesh.
The same flesh I wished to love.
White horses drink what I cannot.
The boundless flow of your eyelashes.
The red and black glow of your sockets.
The river that flows between your legs.
White horses see what I cannot.
The truth of you and your glory.
The way all things dissolve slowly on your palms.
White horses are what I am not.
The ones who are worthy of you.
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Monday, June 22, 2009
48 hours after letting you go
Love. It dances.
Batters my torso and rips out my spinal cord.
Using it as a losso to capture my legs.
And as a finale it swallows what’s left of me.
My mortality. My reign. My indecision
It at once came apart – like snapping the neck of a whimpering victim.
Batters my torso and rips out my spinal cord.
Using it as a losso to capture my legs.
And as a finale it swallows what’s left of me.
My mortality. My reign. My indecision
It at once came apart – like snapping the neck of a whimpering victim.
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