19 November 2009


Outliner (11/19)

I draw a line around my eye and dot out the iris
I make tears in the corner of my mouth
I patchwork my fingerprints into new skin

There is a moment when I feel skin dulling blade
There is the smell of iron and other ores, of pennies
It is distant, like static

I draw a line around my eye dot the iris
I notice how white the roots of teeth are
I roll flesh

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