In the beginning, I did not notice the bleeding for the laughter,
Even staring at the wound I was colourblind,
I muddy the water I wash with
and I blame the fall for the infection
Though it was months ago and the cuts are a whisper of a shout.

I imagine the echoes,
I run myself mad,
Writing heartshapes on my skin,
Writhing, nails across the scar,
In coitus, whip raised,
I see the shadow with the gaslight

But I am alone.


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