4.11 / November 2009

we were horses

Break me. Swat me into a box. Put eighteen stitches in my lower lip, make my teeth the fault line.   You should not have to tell me twice.

Whisper from your green, unbroken mouth into my pricked ears, make me believe it.

Force me. Let me thrash. Teach me a lesson. Lead me through the water.

Abandon me.


4.11 / November 2009

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