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something that washes it away
silences the sounds
the screams, the grinding, the high pitched machines
the political poets
priests whipping out their derisions against bloody walls
cars laughter
that rinses the pain off the body
shuts out their shrieks
numbs my limbs and torso
to the blows raining down
on my welted and burnt skin
fires their gawking sarcasm and playful jokes
into churning grey
their bodies beat against wooden aluminum walls
clatter and strike 
tongue from mouths crawl from lips and through wallcracks parting asscracks and poking their way in for a taste
nostrils and tastebuds on a steal tipped tongue
asleep in a buzzsaw
your eyes and your mind manufacture lies
something to wash subtly
between the rocks
to clean the dirt off the garbage
droplets fall
in between my ears
collect in blood beneath my face
i havent been so dead in years
i have already left
i walk on no grounds 
my mouth hanging tiredly ajar
the sun arrests me with its golden lights
shaking me in the grass
away drunk plummeting
slowly upwards
through their emotional needlepoint
russian roulette mockery games
standing their ground on the sidewalk
cracking each others skulls open 
with small stones clock radios
my teeth reach out of my lips
to gnaw on the lightbulb
flickering from an aperture
in my ceiling
sitting reading laughing
the forehead melts into the lap
sitting alone
faces pointed out windows
bellowing raucous laughters
cotton has filled the room
and my fingers are swollen
into pear shapes

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