I want to lay down. Not in the way of rest or sleep, that is too simple. I want to lay down, hands crossed over my chest, in a coffin, cue passing away – fade out, and scene. Instead, my hands yank and tear at clothes and my mouth hungrily razes a mouth, on a face I do not see. I’m searching for her, in this person’s waist and with my hand around their neck. When I bite them, I want her to feel it, and as their fingers trace my insides, I close my eyes and think of her.
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