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Curtain Call

Blisters strum in 4/4 time.
A bloated heart raggy-edged,
soggy and pinched
from stuffing into your rigid shoes.
Time travel lives.
For the day we wed
a bouquet of your broken promises,
velvety and crimson,
I carried, unwitting with grace.
Twice daily I scour and rinse.
Fetid odors; chemicals erupting
in my bloodstream
from the sharp exorcism of you.
Pustules and blackheads,
an infantry of toxicity,
distorting patchwork-promises
inked on my tender spots.
A funhouse mirror of dimply flesh
from the fluids you haven’t
left in me for months.
You told her I believed you were religion.
Penance and pardon worn over in ache
to an altar of purgatory, gilded with
revoked promises of eternity.

31 Jan 18

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