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a scream in my stomach my lungs could not bear
no wind pipe or voice box to bring it to air
so, stagnant, it festered and swelled and grew hair
and weighed on my bones like lead. |
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a phantom fell swoop somewhere sliced my pride
my urgency severed and tossed to the side
makes me wonder again—when was it i died?
or maybe i’ve always been dead. |
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if that be the truth, will you help me to name
the impostor who put his successor to shame,
who posed for those pictures of personal fame,
the ones that still make me turn red. |
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his wispy smoke shadow slips through here and there
and makes for a game of contrast and compare
a scream in my stomach my lungs could not bear
“you shouldn’t have killed him,” it said. |
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