Yesterday he showed me his bruises.
Pulled his sweater up and underneath his breast
They were scattered across his ribcage like a
Little patch of violet rorschach tests.
He said, "Just because I can't crawl inside you
That doesn't mean I'm not your parasite."
He used to be so radiant.
So s**y when he laughed.
Now his eyes look like gravesites as he speaks in epitaphs.
Half asleep in an open grave,
I'm gazing into the sky carving his shape into the dark clouds.
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