Living in a corpse killed by words flung while I wasn't looking, I scavange the razored flesh of my arms for any hint of a way out--searching for a trap door out of this skin, but all I see is the half-rotting world I'm already in.
Poem IX
Living in a corpse killed by words flung while I wasn't looking, I scavange the razored flesh of my arms for any hint of a way out--searching for a trap door out of this skin, but all I see is the half-rotting world I'm already in.