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Labor. (Free verse) by darby pyn

I bleed for attention. wear my heart on my sleeve. sweat through my scars till the minute you leave. desperate for affection with no prudent remorse. head on for the crash with no shift from the course. beaten laid flat spread open for entry. divided by minutes that feel like a century. deep in denial. permanent bliss. the wounds in-between a fist from a kiss stay like regrets where nothing is lost. repeat without conscience no matter the cost.

DoubleU 11-Jun-05/5:15 AM
Another poem (written like a kitchenblender's manual) with shades of sadism, or rather auto-mutilatism. Why do people in luv feel the need to ram their heads through stone walls or want to fall on top of an upturned billiard cue or want to smother a kiss with a fist? This is about lovepain, yes, but I read too many lovepoems that lack sensitivity. The problem here is probably it's bloody seriousness.




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