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To Trace Walls
I want to trace the walls, dear,
so I can taste hope again.
Last night you reminded me,
of how twisted I have become,
how my nerves have been severed to
nothing
except for my history
burning hot and stubborn in my
gut like knives and torn paper.
I want to trace the walls, dear.
To feel something better.
Last night was one of those nights
that clawed at my face and brought
the red ink screaming from my pen,
bruising blue underneath my eyes.
I want to trace the walls, dear;
and stop dreaming about digging
until I reach my bones and tap them,
feeling the fragility and feeling leave them
so that I am nearly inhuman.
I want to trace the walls, dear;
and lift myself out that window
and into the night so I can touch
the waxy stars and feel them burn,
clean, alive and real: everything
that I cannot be; everything
that gives me these bruised
blue eyes.
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