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La Petite Mort of Creativity

Let me bleed out a moment’s release,

from this contemptible inner peace.

 

my tears are too clear of midnight ink,

my thoughts are apathetic and indistinct.

 

I look for omens, cracks in bedroom mirrors,

for owls, magpies - among nests of unfamiliar

 

I churlishly spread my coquettish legs

seducing any passing stranger’s death.

 

To be touched - trembled by fi...

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deathKatypoetesssex

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