17 December, 2007 - posted in stories - leave a Comment!
I am sorry for your dependence.
Before death you will never know my colour although you already understand my character.
Our relationship becomes obvious when I push against your skin from below.
I am your machine but I can be neither moved nor mastered.
Our history is hereditary.
I wheeze while you are sleeping.
There has been no attraction yet, at least not mutual, although I don’t believe that is my department.
There are trees within me and a forest provides my privacy.
Underwater is no place for me; the sunlight strokes, sand would choke and water is not nearly thick enough.
They say jugular, I say vehicular.
I am the interchange, not the terminus.
If I break then a separate mind will amend me, but if I am truly broken then it is over.
If you punch and puncture me then I will release my cargo. Red on red.
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