a cycle (this in particular) always begins where it left off. i am betrayed; i do betraying. my body, ever obedient, is about to betray, poised on the
cusp of betrayal. betrayal of him, and betrayal of itself. doing anything to be let off--fucking, loving the taste of being touched--i will let anything happen
to let me off.
goddamnit, moon. even better or worse than where we left it, the feeling of you like a pungent sore in my eye. like a sty or some other unsavory.
i want to scratch the self out of me; to simulacrate; to become some similar thing
and float free away
like moonlight
which turns what it touches
inanimate.
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