i paint these people blind
my poetry
is heartless, chews
like gravel on your teeth,
tastes like your mother,
the cornmeal on her hands
when she tied you up
in a burlap sack and tried
to drown you in the creek.
i know you want to.
ask, what's it like
to lay down and die?
how many spiders do you swallow
in your sleep? how many
have you strung out, washed
and ironed to fit your piece?
do girls like you still feel,
can i pinch your skin
until it bleeds, pretend your body
is for tourists and it's a ghost town
once i leave?
you will not take credit
for the nothing that i am now,
even though we both know
i make a killing off of the pain.
you break us, i build colossus,
then redact your name.
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