Poem Hunter
KML (April 3,1910 / Sacramento, CA)


red rope, the color sweetly of
from veins, blood flowing freely from
and memories of a love
that either lied, or never was

my heart is quickening its beat
like once we were between the sheets
and breathing pauses shallow again
like when i first did touch your skin

my wrists hurting like the burn
of rope and waiting for my turn
exposed my weakness sweetly so
i'm useless now and darkly go

what i have left is waiting, wanting
to leave this world that i am haunting
you curse my bones and all i've said
destroy me, then- there's nothing left

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