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Her

Silence melting in her mouth. Her teeth

chattering in slow motion, soundless horror of the

daily grind. Her tongue caressing a façade of saccharine joy

from the too-often bouts of laughter

that fizz out upon examination.

 

Her eyes, darting around the world in

eighty seconds, two pupils

of the eternal didactism that clutches her heart—

her heart, palpitating purple pulp,

gushing out the lifeblood of anguish

turned mockery turned romance.

 

Her hands, how they search for feeling

like two bloated tarantulas in the equinoctial abyss,

hop from here to there and abruptly they are falling,

hairy legs flailing, through a rather deep hole

in the center of her head.

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