i give the black
between my
bones.
it's hard to unfold the mysteries
and remain
elusive -
to keep it up without
knocking over the family
album.
without turning over the
dirt in the graves.
without giving too much.
and so i bleed.
here, from this scar of myself,
i leak the temptations.
from this scrap of flesh,
i bleed.
i not I.
this is the small of me,
the part that whimpers,
drawn up into itself,
surrounded in womb,
a sympathetic nothing,
locked away behind
the artery under my heart.
this is the black
i give
between
my bones,
the child part that
cries for
condition.
the tame,
peaceful
part that would be abused
if others
knew it was there.
i let the child cry
for one day
it may
drown in its
prison,
way down deep
in the black
between
my bones.
this is the blood of me
for which
you cannot see.
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