stop rolling apathy onto your lips
and dressing your body as a corpse
that fashionable cynicism hangs limply
on your anorexic soul
you who dream of slicing your stomach open
with the thin point of your elbow
to watch the knots within you spill out
— now, bend to untangle them.
bathe constantly in your own blood
surely this means you are alive
and these words of yours, capped in a faith
that has faith in no one, proclaim:

no, nothing matters
when everything’s matter


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