deepundergroundpoetry.com
I keep picking the scabs with the clock hands
My bloody heel prints
marked a path from the
broken clockface to the door
where I wandered
this last time
there was a part of me
that believed we'd meet again
and a smaller part
that wanted to
I limp away
to find a Walgreens
or a CVS
where I can buy
a bottle of peroxide
and a box of band aids
time only heals cuts
you don't re-open
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