wail.

these
poor
"cymbal"
crashes
down into the base
of your skull
or
maybe your spine
i have a tattoo of you
that i haven't gotten
just yet
but the blood is there
i'm ready
and i'm willing

these poor
cymbal crashes
into the back of the bedroom
where wrists are
not what they used to be
and i'm wailing
the siren
of lost























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