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i am counting the ribs
in my ribcage like collector's items,
storing the notches in my spine
in a nice little row,
right in front where
i can see them.
i am sifting through
dead skin cells trying to find
some form of life underneath.

i smear the blood on my foot
into a cross for you,
because i know there is
nothing else that i can give.

8/7/08
©2008-2009 ~wetblackink
:iconwetblackink:

Author's Comments

er.

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:iconshaolin5archangel:
keep working with this one and post it again. I think if you polish this up a little more, this can be a great poem. It already is, but It still has more room. All you can give, is yourself.....great concept

--
"What is power, without the knowledge to use it?"
:iconclownscape:
"i smear the blood on my foot
into a cross for you,"


I find that imagery disturbing because it wouldn't leave my head.

Smile.

--
Lemme take you on a roller-coaster ride through some of the places I've known.

Places Don't Exist
:iconwetblackink:
it's truly not as hideous as it sounds.

i had a small scab on top of my foot
and i was smearing the blood around it
at first, a cross, then a star shape.

it amused me.
^^now that line sounds disturbing >_<

--
i can't make a sound
in your sundrenched world.
:iconclownscape:
Glad to spread the virus :clone:

Smile.

--
Lemme take you on a roller-coaster ride through some of the places I've known.

Places Don't Exist

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August 22, 2008
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