my grain

Verian Thomas

Cutting across and not with it makes the pain sharp enough to carve off eyebrows in one long slice, leaving them attached by a slither and hanging down the side of the face, dripping. Thousands of synchronised microscopic dentists drills mining temples, causing interference. Concentration is led away, forced to dig itís own grave and then shot in the back of the head. Mouse traps snapping eyelids and bruising eyeballs right to the back. The fingernails scraping along the blackboard are my own but I still want to bite them off. Moses, wonít you come down from the mount and bring me tablets?

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Panic! Poets

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