Interlace

A headrush
Young lust
Words rest on scales
Wounds left in mouth pretences
Hard wired senses
Skin covered with trenches of the war inside
She opens herself like a womb
In denial she opens herself
A brittle door shuts the pain out
A subtle headshake
A twist
A break
Blood bleeds better in lit rooms
Feed someone else
Mask fools self
Time adds up to nothing
Wicked birthing
Twisted offspring
She opens herself like a womb
In denial she opens herself
A little more shuts the pain out