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I Have Ridden in Your Cart, Driver
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
Ridden your streets to fire-drenched eternity,
Wrapped my bone-flesh fingers into the thread of your hair,
Finding the last, glowing waysides where embers wreathe
A metallic snow-fire, slowly melting deliberate ashes
From my simple crimson dress and my
Bones split at your nimble touch
Splintered feet are planted, wavering on death's crooked line
Not ashamed to live
Muscle moves bone moves body and
Step
Step
Feel muscles extend, contract,
Feel the pulse of veins under willow tendons
Feel foot swing forward, I am
Walking
My feet have stepped where yours lay,
Pressed heel deep into condensed ground
Step
Step
I have felt that pain, your fingers against my spine
Are hammer blows that bloom purple black bruises along my back.
I don't remember where it began, this need to
Be in constant movement.
My feet carry thunder-dashed storms,soaking the ground where
I grow my garden of lies, I don't want to
Reach for the weed, and pull the flower.
With every sentence I speak, the weeds rise around me. I drag them in,
Weeds catching at my feet. I kill with my lies.
I pull them into my garden, devil-snared nettles clutching at their
Throats. I can taste their acrid, sweaty fear.
I wander, lonely,
With the faceless crowd,
Toward my martyrdom.
Step.
Step.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
Ridden your streets to fire-drenched eternity,
Wrapped my bone-flesh fingers into the thread of your hair.
Finding the last, glowing waysides where embers wreathe
A metallic snow-fire, slowly melting deliberate ashes
From my simple crimson dress and my
Bones split at your nimble touch
Splintered feet are planted, wavering on death's crooked line
Not ashamed to live.
Muscle moves bone moves body and
Step.
Step.
Step.
Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair.
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