Interned in my own prison
beneath the skin...

The time will not heal. The
aging looks. Erotica. Each...

Hauled up
the breast suture...

For little grains of truth,
listening to intuition...

When you talk of
a war on the behalf...

Bending the truth,
you return back to your home...

A squirrel on a stone bull
revives a genre...

Between the hills
lies the secret of deep...

Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms...

Graveyard of stillbirths.
I am walking on severed legs...

Take a call and bring
the upside down...

You dig in your heels,
when blood spills...