cushion is small and wet with tears.
they wait to be fed or to be eaten.
I hate being looked at; Christmas cheer.
sow and tie me to the grim palanquin.
abject sense of loss, sensation,
although head-fast unifying concussion,
lift me, just looking for confirmation.
Never really had asked for it that way,
.
silver switch like gruesome pudding
messes and laboratories sad and redding.
there's a crystal sadness in the air, for
function takes root in provisional envies.
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