unfinished paint-by-number portraits
that will never move anyone.
the way my mind can
take even the brightest of colors
& make them rain-soaked gray
is suffocating.
but this body is not my own anymore.
these bones clank awkwardly against each other,
knobby knees and hips that forgot their sway
next to a pile of old letters back Home
toss & turn through the night.
& with bit tongue and split lips
i spit teeth and words out of a mouth that
does not remember what it's like to kiss
an honest person.
(of all the foul weathered foes
i never needed to know
is the one i've created
in a mirror,
made with smoke.)
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