run while you can

At night, that night.

Blankets the city. Icheon, South Korea. Spring 2011.

Blurting out wordlessness, sick of the same sounds.

Stop it, just stop it. Stop stop stop it! These, these…

tight circles. The past… the tail. Us… dogs–

cork-screwing ourselves over and over again.

Cliched… enough is enough; let it rest; let it die.

And the scars, they sing the saddest songs, ballads,

recreating themselves, sorely, to fit their creation.

This mourning has got to end; the morning comes.

Even salt, in the wounds, in the eyes, isn’t enough.

So salt, there is no need for you. Heartache is yours.

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