Dark House

Cruddy smells flake off the house and I know I shouldn’t be here.

No one has in faithless year after faithless year.

Knock it off.

I see you filching my backup plans from my purse.

God I wear blue well.

My soul is transparent like the cleanest lake.

 

I am without my numbers and shapes,

sewn from cotton fields.

I’m a doll you can love, hate, dissipate

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