she asked about death and touched my
grey
eyes
the irony was too much and she left
coughing
what a hack
we laughed
we rubbed the rest of my feeling
into her skin
creamy white
thing
she chose me despite the warnings
all the drippings leading to my sudden
end
it's not like this every morning
it''s not without foreboding
you moved my flesh to the inevitable end
and I was puctuation
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