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DOG-EAT

By M.M.Wake

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I wake with dirt in my teeth,


hands smelling of fight.


Last night’s liquor


still growls in my gut.


Love?


That’s a joke


for soft-bellied things.


I sharpen my grin,


walk barefoot through glass,


and dare the world


to bleed before I do.


 
 

© Copyright Dark Poets Club

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