untapped texts ache my skinny fingers and my back is a cracked mess

my muse is a twat i once met, so often

grinding feelings need an outlet

and i’m the flour between stones, it’s not foolish because it’s not something i think about

it’s bondage around my innards,

it’s a grasping feeling of loss that is so resilient and wiry and it’s all strung up inside me and it worms around with hooks that rip my muscles and it spreads my feelings thin

i have to look through a ragged pinhole, the sides are so heavy and i’m tired

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