JoelJosol Posted May 15, 2009 Share Posted May 15, 2009 There are places I dismembered, cut into chunks of bleeding meat falling off my hands. These hands washed off the meat using gutter water from some neglected alley of my labyrinth of memories. These are stinking wetlands, wet with all the pieces no longer making sense. I could not escape them, unable to scrape them off the skin of my skull. They rebuild anew, forcing themselves up my throat like a vomit, or nose like a puss. Some places are parasites. You kill them with your hands. They are reborn still. Quote "Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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