Senses
By isa
I can smell it the ageing scabs and fresh new blood the pain feels so real and good. I can hear it the blood rushing in my ears repeats insults that knocked me off my feet. I can see it the cut marks on my pale flesh, taunt me towards my deserved death. I can taste it the salty blood warm on my tongue, coppery death palpates in song. I can feel it deep and shallow alike burn hot a fire so right and yet so not. Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 04:11 PM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"I can smell it..."