Just as I was about to escape from
these surface senses...
There was an itch on the back of my neck.
I knew if I scratched it with my knives,
the cold would cut me open for all the clouds to see.
Twelve seconds passed
and more broken than sorry,
I kissed the temptress of relief
scratching away the pain.
Inviting the surgeon of torture to take over this fantasy.
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