shiv. Pointers, anyone?

My tattoos are bleeding onto the carpet. Onto the floor in a fit of livid frustration. Bats turn outward off my skin. Liquid crawls onto the woods of my mind. The trees blur into a sonnet of tranquility. Oh how I hear your voice-mind sunken and coarse haunting in a shimmer. The bats become ground crystalline glass. My thoughts scurry in a haze of wings beating forward. Precious little lives, pulsing through the sector of my brain. Tentative lovers


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