motionless
like christ’s
fingers dug deep inside
his spine
no good
the heart exposed
all tragedy all irony all
blinding light
a metaphor for
despair
and you don’t love this
woman but you want her to
love you and none of us in
this room are beautiful
all of us in
this desert
are dying of thirst
a bunch of fucking
babies, but that’s how
we were raised
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