OPEN
my scars
become skylights
most nights
the stars
shine thru
the wounds
their silvery milk
bathing any traces
of pain
LUCK
i have this
old mug of
brushes
& these
tubes of
primary colors
& these makeshift
canvases
but if everything
should suddenly
become terribly stale
then i have these two hands
to un-postpone my
suicide ....
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