where once lived a boy now lives only the dead.
Sliced up and torn by the man that I wed,
the hay is now sticky and cooling and red.
I should be revolted, but hold him instead,
what does it matter my love has no head?
- Julie


WordsI worry. I'm good at it. It’s what I do. And I worry as I step across the cold tiles of my kitchen floor and pick up the first dirty dish. I worry as I scrub away the remnants of last nights dinner and let the hot water scald my hands. By the final cup, my fingers are damp and wrinkled and I can't even feel the mess of old splashes cooling on my bare toes and the worry has lessened in the face of tidiness.Words
My shirt is moistened by stale dishwater, and as I wander off to change it I'm thinking about words and my love for them. Sharp words, soft words, showy words, long words, offhand words, lost words, I love each and every one f
Robo-Jerk
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