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conceit.

conceit.

conceit.

breathing heat
a blackout
unfinished ruin
shaking the bones
a venomous rig
fists gagging left
spirals infuriating
methods are pining
for the light
a breaking skintight
aching thin
faces writhe in rhythm
fold right ahead
lit up like memory
a vehement raging
toward empty
to wanting me
eating these fingers
a taste like no other
frothing together
cleaner sickness
to fiend a routine
precious eye
egregious sight
older than this night
crust edging
a larval imbibing
shrill engined
fickle hits
bruised hands cementing
castles this cold
acrimonious thirst
such conceit
a cure for me.

(C) Chris Vaughn 2014

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