there are melted, rubber spirals aching on the bottoms of your sneakers from the fire you quiet; the habits our bodies silently endure.
And revenge plotted inside of you; hatred exponentially horded and feelings of inconsiderate carcinogen
that hi-jacks cells and coerce others to follow, blossoming and thefting tissue for its' solely aesthetic means; a useless group of blackened spots scattered like stars across your lungs.
And calculations of equality, appropriating time above and under groud; “a breath for a puff”.
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