Wordle #206

210

My bones crawl

The spurious extraction

Of clay from collapsing flesh

Leaves me dirty, empty.

My escaping heart cracks

Under the murder of will.

Your crow feasts

Blood as dense as grain

Blood splintered in

The calcification of pain.

A quilt stitched of veins,

Blue-walled and intrinsic

I seep with sophistry

And criminal illusions.

I chase the malice

Of your open interest

And we are nothing

If not inexcusable

Nothing if not deserving

Of the ache that follows.

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