No. 77

Mocking Bird Down

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Pick me up in stages,
let my knuckles drag,
and my head drop and loll,
mouth open, struggling to breathe.
Let my eyes roll back,
and wait for my pulse to become
so feint..
that the fingers pressed
to my neck would have to be so still
just to feel any signs of life.
Hide and seek with timing,
and the only evidence lies
in how fast the blood dries up
and clots.
And then ask me.
Do you want to live?

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