"Aftermath"
Posted by CutZy McCall on
It never leaves, just shifts,
Sometimes it's in the frontal lobe,
At others, in my throat,
Croaking like a smoking witch,
Dry, inflammable.
Then, horribly erupts in seas so vast
They cleanse the Earth.
For some reason, you open
Floodgates
With that haunting, wolf-gaze,
Your brush,
Your camera.
I know you know.
(The artist knows all, and why I needed you.)
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