::02:25:08::

::: listen! but every poem still sounds the same :::

laxatives wait to take on
what’s been forced through
my teeth.
smooth down my throat
it was worth more than
200 precious units eating
my crawling time.

the clock would stop with something
to slow me down.
still speaking. silent in the absence
of familiar company.
a crutch. a clone of my best
and my worst
shortcomings. coming
between my legs

my burning abdomen
finally clean; the soft and
pulsing canvas
for him to paint his fears on:

blue and red like
digits on a good day
or in the cold;
but I would keep them bloodless.

that eggshell skin was worth
ripping with calloused fingers.
let the waves crush you,
endless slow motion movie.

let me crash.

Written by: ~ mallory