No more peaches in the evening sky today

The clouds have hung themselves around me,
like a sick woman’s burden,
open up,
come on,
o  p  e  n  u  p,

see the insides of me,
in the cracks on the streets,
bawling at my own pettiness –
what a justification for a being a woman

hair stuck like disappointment before a meal,
I merely pass by,
and if a car hits me or my insides today,
a sick woman’s burden hanging from her breasts,

do not catch my last breath,
let it fall

like the damaged breaks,
like everything.

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