February 23, 2006

Tag Poetry 2 - Gripped

terrible
settling gray on my
still
the
is the stirring.

don't let come heavy
come come with
terror to me
toward

morning
is always the worst.
what's
is impossible to ,
how to
, start again
without clawing
at my
with wrapped
in scratchy paper towels
I use after the comes.

amazing that I could it
so long,
cloak
in ,
at odds with
my own
the one made
me .


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