Monday, May 25, 2009


He says to think about my troubles
Makes me happy
To scratch the scab
Before it heals
To keep the wound fresh
A bright carmine red
To never bloom into dead sienna

The rotoscope in my head
Plays in slow-mo
Stuck from minute twenty-two
To twenty-nine
On and on repeats the scene
'Til the end is the beginning once again

Calm is a rarity,
Lost in the desert of the not-quite real
Remove me from this vicious
Craving to self-immolate
To purge me of that movie
Playing cruelly underneath
These fragile dreaming eyelids

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