my palms pulled the color of plums
from the friction touching taut sheets
tears tore my mouth open onto eyelet
consciousness tried to pretend I held control
holding a hand behind my head
shaped like a gun empty and aimed at nothing
yes I wave hello to the beckoning black
think of the smooth sounds sliding in would yield
here I hit myself into objects that eat
my noise like the new bedding
but it burns its pattern into me
you do not care and I cannot
tell you what you do not want
you set me swinging harder to see
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