cushions
entwining my back,
roots of tubes
shoot forth from
my thighs.
He merely sits and stares.
I'm consumed
by Godric's greatest frenzy
switching
black to white,
moldy grey
gone.
He stares through green glass eyes.
Blue stains
entrap my arm,
the baby's lost
in thickets
full of
puce-ish flowers.
His eyes that never knew.
Sinking down
through half-formed
thoughts -
rough weaves,
writing sits unread
crying for attention
I give to Matt instead.
He leaves me with those eyes,
forgetting my once live state,
seeing only pools
of human non-existence.
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