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FeedingMy skin feels the warmth of a nonexistent sun,
as I watch the vita trickle.
A beautiful crimson stream.
Warm, metallic, relief.
The fog falls over my mind as I feed,
gnawing the flesh gently ,
pulling the vita out.
I curl to her side watching her eye lids flicker
and my fingers trail down her warm stomach.
"Such a good girl" I whisper kissing her wound
She moans softly looking up at me to see what I'll do next.
Such deliciously untainted vita,
from such a dirty little girl.
Freedom of a roaming childI never saw the urge to leave,
The freedom seemed worth the fear.
That freedom of frog marshes and Christian meals.
/Veggies tails clicked off and the children disconnected, they walk through the warm house toward the awaiting home cooked meal. I watched their big white smiles and sank into the relaxed happy energy of family, ah Christian meals./
They prayed for her,
I thought that was nice.
I wonder about their pity,
It never crossed my mind.
I was left to make my morals,
Before the days of guilt.
I remember the sickness,
Cups of blood.
I remember the delirium of night.
/She laid on the bed with matted hair and blurry eyes, dope sick. Along the side of the exposed mattress sits three big gulp cups of blood. I went outside. She asked me about church and I said we were going, she asked if they had crosses, and i said no. That made her sad, maybe she though my soul would burn forever. That's what I assumed. /
" I can take care of myself!"
Says the pathetic emaciated lit
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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