they've taken me down from the cross

and thrown me into the clink

("the clink?""the clink")

and now without my holy death

i am samson without his hair

(and you're delilah, you cunt)

it's all growing back in the wrong direction

sprouting inwards, through flesh

a thick seaweed in my veins

bristling the inside of my mouth

cutting up my gums and my tongue

chest hairs making tiny bleeding punctures

in my weakening heart that spurts blood all through my chest

and into permeated lungs, (that fill up

quick) heavy and wet

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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