Twenty-six: Fuck the Gold Medal

Half way between decades I
stick, sap-like, seeping through
my ages. It is almost sinful, to
think in so many rings when my
roots are so short. I forget
everything but I still have all
my teeth to speak with. All
the better to cut you down with,
my dear.

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

One thought on “Twenty-six: Fuck the Gold Medal”

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