bone.

two neat
bullet wounds,
weeping and
swollen.
but she didn’t
even notice.

she wore
a crop top
and black
leggings;
practical,
tomboy tastes.

while her
skin exposed, and
her bare spine
protuding;
no softness, but
hard, offensive bone.

you can watch
her dance;
see the flood,
see the tsunami
of secrets,
dainty secrets.

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