live work breathe despair
rough night, torn towels, a razor blade caught in the grout
eyes worked over twice and thin, hollow, teeth set at odd angles from grinding
slow grind, from the stretch, just before it all begins again and leaves you weeping
there is no hope, only this, over and over, slow molasses roiling, thickening out
and if the bones weren’t so strong, the meat so thick
a noose would be so much handier
or a very very long journey into the void