We are Capable of Cancer

Needles against my skin.
I’ll never be silk again.
Hurricanes and explosions, that is how you pump.
I can’t hear my heart, can you feel my chaos?
Can you feel, my chaos?
The –
Blood transfusion is soiled.
And your beat is a black plague.
She asked, Can you stitch me up, darling?
I can’t hear my heart.
Can you stitch me up?
Sutures sunder wide, he severs
Beneath this sound, the

***a collaboration with my friend and fellow writer Jace Darcangelo, influenced by Dr. Glancy’s Advanced Creative Writing class and The Chariot (of course)


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