When We’re Busy Being Broken

when chair legs scratch us
when dried lips become the better of us
when we’re falsely lighting the end of us
suck it in- empty, strong, flowing–
to the currents, all over
in my veins, my beating blood
when we close our eyes and inhale
ragged breaths, choking
ghosts slip surreptitiously down our cheeks-

and you will never trace the road of my sorrow
the bones like an arrow
bleeding, bleeding- bleeding where they can’t see.

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