hasn’t gone

it shambles




coming, and


like salt's thirst

scowling over a

body tries pulling

wreckage onshore

does return hollow

what is fearful to

be loved, but this

picture is unpainted

with scars, i am the frame’s

dull occupant

hurt, pillared pillowed precipices

stay unchallenged

building upon its

featureless architecture of tearfulness

you tore right thru me

with that pigsty of a

heart that contained

nought affection

sunspots have burnt

holes, deep hollows -

deep awakening

burrows for -

dark grimacing birds

to roost and lizards to

sprawl where such

damage will not remove

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