symbolic
severed things
to reveal lava
gushing to the metronome in chest
it is the hell
behind her coalesced lips
the little inaudible things
the little brink
of release
fluctuating
it is composure
for the damage within
the war of her eyes
and heaven
is an alphonse mucha salt mine
flooded with rain
and spilling down pleated tapestry
into the sockets of her skull
fountain-esque
i can feel words
coagulate in my throat
becoming esophageal tissue
and her
of the downward heart
of the body convulsions
the sodium war
of her eyes
i feel this
and i hold her
because it is all
that i can think
to do
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