Tuesday, 4 October 2016



Tell yourself the way out; again,
again, again. Force your will to play out;
what the fuck is inside you?

Such a little madam,
ratified by habit. The pulse
of daily loss, arrested little heart.

Torn up one by failing one
nothing left to clarify,
in littlespace you’re quaking

where once you were personified.
What is that left behind you?
Leave until you die.

What the fuck is in you? Never
latch the door. You have not been ruined.
Not quite,

being ruined isn’t shit:
Things become sucked out of you.
Wrongness basted every hole...

Waste became internalised, permission
never given. Take your tiny self
away strangled by your ribbon.

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