one shovel full at a time. 

it’s just all gonna stop.

working one day. 

between the pain

and 

the mockery,

lies a ditch,

waiting to hold the body,

of soul,

that just couldn’t 

find the strength 

to breathe 

anymore. 

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bolted. 

so

this

 is what 

it is. 

alone

as ever

and ever

will. 

 

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stop

i think im dying here. 

like my insides are burning up. 

you awoke the beast

in me

and now 

he’s eating me

from the inside

out. 

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That’s all. 

Its just too much. 

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The circular flour girl

i’m dying inside

cause you’re not here

and you’re everything

that i am, 

and in every old face

caught in every tune

lives the every breath

that you left

in the simplest vessel

wrought of pain in its dough 

where the light of the end

lives in you. 

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icy hot. 

sometimes 

the pain is so much

it simply ceases

to hurt. 

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time machine 

playing memory

while

our fingers dance

in impossible circles

round you and me

and everything us

but our eyes-

they hold

volumes of futures

not written

yet,

while staring time

in its hand covered face……

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