July 26, 2011
And the moment these blistered wounds meet the reprised air, they cleanly split open and out rushes another wave of black poison, the toxic incense of what used to run through my veins, and if I am careful enough when I trace my fingers through the thick liquid, I van see the crimson of the past and the suddenly unearthed traces of the foreign horrors I never knew, never felt, festered underneath these candied-perfect sores, this clandestine attenuated serenade…

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