a quiver & a shake.
twitch & rise.
i hate the way my blood itches
in my veins as it speeds through my arms & legs.
i am the cold steal that hangs at my side.
the bottles that stack up at the end of a dingy, stained
carnival folding table,
waiting for me to throw a thread barren
softball at them in hopes i might all topple over.
the mouse who baits the trap with his favorite cheese
because he knows he can't refuse it.
how do i walk myself out of this one
when i know i'm only leading towards the way i came?
paper
paper
paper hoop.
it burns up quick
dissolves to goop.
i threw myself to the tigers only to find out they were real.
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