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Cracks in the Dam.

Knots inside
of me tightening.

Idle hands, fidgeting
fingers peck
away at wounds,
till I look down

at my spread digits,
open, vulnerable mitt,
vermilion puddle
quivering
at the center
of my palms.

I am a lie
just getting by trying
desperately
in what is clearly
a state of total insanity,

to secure
truths I somehow
managed to salvage.

I am a masque
crumbling away, cracking
damn of my soul
will flood
before me one day.

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