|
About Poetry Other Exits Back to Artemisu! ______________________________________________ You can see me standing here the substance down my chest It pools, at my feet, and you wait take a number in your hand When they call you up, you cringe needle slides beneath skin and you are one of them. I stood still, and though my chest was washed with blood they kept me aside as an example for you. They called out your number you quivered and started Demanding to know where you had been, you couldn’t answer. And so you were led to a room, far away, stood in the center, the incisions were made And you cried, to bleed As an example for me. Myself.
Contact: blitzipestisoccido@hotmail.com |