poem: teenagers aren’t humanity, but the horror comes close

he cut her up

inside the grand blue gray there is amourous floating of livers and other

passions, there is repression. he cut

himself up and she cried out she

was his hand, his wrist, his perfect dead face after the school imploded.

we are living too quickly to catch the blood

there are insides and there are insides; there is infinity and there is

highschool sex on stained carpet over automatic guns. he cut

the metal open and found himself herself

she walked away into the explosion and looked back with great amusement

great pity. inside the circlur flying nothing he

cut and she laughed in the blood

she was you. the knife slipping over and over, cheap razors, cheap people.

and they say we are naturally good

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