Novocaine Grey
Tragedies write themselves
Inking the busted gut slaughterhouse,
Mascara quill smears
Christening untended diaries.
Can you collect her drops
Or crimson spots?
Tragedies write themselves
Draining fangless rain
Page after thorn crowned page
Biting flayed skin dreams
Cauterising the saddened nerve.
Days turn novocaine grey,
We pluck out our engorged eyes
Scorning violators.
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