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by k.
Rated: GC · Poetry · Dark · #2258362
Feeling trapped in my own skin
Butcher's slab.
Fatty white meat.
I want it split
violently
like a smashed pomegranate.

Why would there exist a creature that hates itself?

The viscera, the extra space.
Dough-padded, safely insulated.
Stupid in its raw existence.
Grossly overextending boundaries.
Hatred. Rage.

Why does a blood-filled body
feel as though a cage?

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