bindings around my lungs
slipping down my throat
like the razors twice a day
low voice, so soft
but not for me
gunge coloured carpet
with speckles of puddle and sick
like my heart
like my throat
pools of blood and sick
soft voice, so low
but not
for me
YOU ARE READING
Inkmouth
Puisiin the plethora of pornography options for the modern saint [Poetry #51] [2015]
