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at dusk
my skin is covered in goosebumps not the nice kind that come from tickles or kisses on the nape of the neck but the kind that comes from knowing that you aren’t alone when you would rather be alone the dead have come to visit and I am so tired of this they stand in line as if they are waiting for a ride at the town fair I see them with their tickets clutched in fists I am the tilt a world to them there are children in the line with worn out stuffed animals threads hanging at the eyes It is my time to succumb to this I sit in the hands of the nearest angel and one by one the dead tell me their stories I can’t help thinking how much the living suck I am an echo of life I hold limbless children bombed in a war that their parents kept them in the dark about I think how horrible the world can be some teenage girls that were raped and murdered before they had a chance to climb into themselves flank me as my guard angels they carry the pain of knowledge they wish they had never known a child buried in a corn field holds a corn cob he made his home in the dirt after his father killed him and his mother the corn is his doll his comfort they feed on me like leeches I am not sure I care anymore they extract my girlhood ghost like a bad tooth this is a symbiotic relationship we haunt the Ferris wheel imagine what it might be like to ascend but our pain keeps us down with all the demons here on earth we have to make due with this existence at the freak show we make friends some of them leave with us we travel on thought in the night on roads forgotten we remember how we are like one another and that is enough
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AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
June 2023
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