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pulling teeth.
and sucking everything out of your sockets.
i taste the years of things left unsaid in your blood.
iron copper oil.
you're rich, baby, you're rich.

every morning
i stand under the water in the shower
and touch my wrists.
feeling where i'll make my mark.
that was all i could think when you
said you were glad i wasn't dying.

i guess it depends on how you define
"dying".
©2007-2009 ~goingoutlikemilo
:icongoingoutlikemilo:

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Sept 11 2007

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December 27, 2007
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