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April 2007 About the parts of yourself that you dislike. |
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The slugs inside have always been inhabitants of dawn and dream reminders of my sins unseen – they’re dwellers in my head, I mean. The slugs inside don’t like the chill they slide outside when I feel ill my ears, my eyes, my nose they fill – and in my skin they’re never still. The slugs inside, they hurt and hate their whisperings can never sate my doubtful mind, and at this rate - their slitherings will not abate. The slugs inside, sometimes they sleep not too quiet, though; not too deep salt can scatter them like sheep - relentless, though: soon out they creep. The slugs inside serve to remind of rotten fruit, its skin and rinds lost memories and passing time – I love them, though, the slugs inside. |