The curly Q’s quiver severely,
quaking the tendrils of my mind.
My cerebellum snoozes savagely in a
symphony of yips and yelps yanking
the bronze chain wrapped snuggly around
his bruised anaconda knuckles. And the breeze
bangs bullets of petals into his brain, and singes the
would be ashes of his inner gravity. Cantankerous
canines maul the hollow shell that is his brother’s,
rugged red mop top, bleeding onto the cotton coated
floor. I breathe deep the putrid lavender aroma that
that chops the rancid waters of sleepless days and
awakening nights: amnesia-tic.
His glare nails the vein of
my knobby neck, and I know he can see the diamond
studded shards piercing through my aorta.
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