Esquire Theme by Matthew Buchanan
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twice the shame? no twice pain.

I was afraid of something more infinite than the secret

that festered between the gaps of my teeth.

The secret that caroused itself into the saliva-pungent

in the back of my throat. The secret that grew and grew

until I purged its existence from my DNA into a swirl that

runs deep into the oceans gutter. 

the secret that died. Just like me.




pin through wings.

a shadow casted on a thin wall.

the electric lid of space sent spiraling

with silhouette bodies, tangled into one

core. their words never buoyant to be heard-ingested into

the safe of promiscuity. 

released like balloons into a misted sky.

they are gone.

the lingering of inadvertence stings in your rose coloured glasses-but all to be left scarred is the notches etched into your post.

and the one you want carved into your palms

is the butterfly against a desert of grains.