vietcong.
2002-12-13, 2:43 a.m.
my flesh is on fucking fire...
tiny hairs lined up like soldiers
standing at attention
amidst the VietCong wreckage
of my skin...
tiny lines of blood
up and down
my arms
up and down
with the blade
up and down
goes my level of consciousness
and i'm having a hard time
finding my center of gravity
my center of emotions
my center that tells me when to
fucking stop playing the
i like to push too hard sometimes game
think i may have nicked a vein game...
and who would i call that may know my name game...
because... no one remembers it anymore...
maybe i'll just carve a little x...
right here...
on my wrist...
(isn't that the way it's supposed to go?)
so there are no mistakes...
my name is right there...
center stage...
front page...
standing tall among the scattered mess
of my battlefield
arms
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