He writes words on the walls with his fingertips
Pretending
and seeing his letters forming pagan gods and idols
These letters running silver
quick down the walls
streaking pain down through his arms
Laughing he sees the blood an expose
of an apartheid curse
a castaway in his life circling
the redudancies with his torn cuticles and flesh
sabotaging his words with anguished laughter
His...
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its Friday
im at home
at the computer
other then that im alright