Words.

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I am, and will always be
an Other.

Standing apart.

Sometimes I wonder
why
I stay on, why I
hang around.
Perhaps I am only

waiting,

waiting for my stage
exit,

to walk off,
tumble, and fall,
into blood,
into semen,
into spit.

Written by Gogo

August 18, 2008 at 11:59 pm

Posted in Poetry

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