i'm dreaming about dead bodies again. it's been a long time.
how old is this girl whose knees touch but thighs do not, who
wears tights in the rain, who smokes instead of eats and folds up into closets
and will spread her legs with a delicate hesitancy if only it will please?
she deserves it, this soiling of her body. so she thinks. she
thinks, let it happen again.
battling two times eight years apart. back to the beginning. and
i'm feeling reckless.
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