dark, foreign,
near
a haunting deserving of bars and thorned black locks
skin, hair,
that dark corner under your bed
your bed
our bed
your bed
bed
sparked cardboard, my fingers
shred
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But I can't say that aloud; I can't tell anyone that I have been waiting for this all my life and that being chosen to wait is the reason I can. If I were able I'd say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look. Look where your hands are. Now.
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