BREATHE HEAVY — GABRIEL DUCKELS
You had me dancing like a dog turned rabid, twice on my knees and thrice in my grave, always clutching at those pieces of you.
I had to have them locked up shut beneath my bed, making our very own glittering skeleton, breaking quietly to dust, our own dirty stigma: bits of bone, bits of teeth, every single bit of you – put away, kept out.
The sun rises ten times a second now I know what to do. The door has opened itself for me and the sky is smiling blue.
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