These words are blood
ripped from my veins
wrists spurting raw thoughts, not
enough to really drain me,
not real or deep enough to hurt,
but a great show, a
performance
designed to make you
look.
I whore my heart, my
thoughts, my
gift for a focused moment
of your precious
intention
an interlude of
your
attention.
Since I am
a shadow, though,
this will pass with
the night.
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