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i want them to drip


like cherry cough syrup

slow and even

from the clear rim of an almost empty bottle

straight to the back of my


worn out


i want them to surge


to pack a punch

to go

and go

and go

filling up the silence

that tells me

to run


i want them to


on his doorstep

does he have a doorstep?

wrapped in recycled paper

a loosely tied bow

strung together from plastic

clipped off the neck

of an endangered sea turtle

words for me

words for you

i want them to hurt

to burn

to take one look in the mirror

and shatter their own reflection

then kneel


and brush the shards

piece by piece

edges mixing with letters

careful not to miss a piece

am i asking too much?

i don't want them

need them

these words

to say the shit

that swirled around like molten lava

and burned holes in my heart

when she was supposed to be reading

me bedtime stories

i don't want to

need them

to stitch up the wounds

that made me believe

there would always be a card missing

from my deck

i don't want to need them


the words don't always show up

nobody ever does

and i guess sometimes

i'm scared

that without them

i won't be enough


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