if i sit in silence
hitting marks a body brutal
skin sanctions
soil a muting dish
tick a diction acting out
a slimy muddy etch
a stitch in here
floating through a minute
mutating to men
a doggish provision
eating sin awake tonight
his eyes give lethargy
pages of pinching skinny
flinching heavy
marking the ideal on me
a fuck is what he said
a crusty blood loss light
fold a young boy heart
shadowy hypnotist
a chair is this
a hand holding down
no breath.

Chris Vaughn


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