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Wormholes

Maybe we forfeit too easily


I find


My nails

Clinging to the essence of it


Godsick


Wound-licking

Clean open and fresh


My skin

A hand-cranked music box


As long as I can swim

My limbs to the lullaby

Culling morose notes

Out of the wormholes


Punched still


Sticking

To the air in the room


Injuries sung far

From the heart of us

Crushed and dusty

Somewhere

Over the equator

The sun is rising on

Some maddening dream

Plucked for you to keep


I conclude with the day-fade


Maybe you’ll remember me


Wrapped tight

Folding closed



🎨/📷 by Jesse Kanda, unknown title, unknown date


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