Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Ghost scabs

what is on the table was in my hands before
what is in my hands has been in my eyes for quite some time
what my eyes behold is on the table stricken from my hand
senses decieve and im giving in, i secede
i look down to a wondering warm belly
to the shock of a has-been shot
my wounds burn with scabs forming like cement
i shudder thinking of the spill
who gave away my position?
the train car remains attached but the door is locked
no one will be leaving us and we've all got serious injuries
i see pale skin everywhere
we're all becoming ghosts
or hosts

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