souvenir

prose & poetry by chia

souvenir

I bet I can twist your wrist without breaking your bones. Let me reach into your lungs and resuscitate with my bare hands. Gouge my eyes out with the hatred you bury so deep and you will see just how much the sight of your face that February afternoon have long still been burning in the back of my head. Pieces of sand scattered in your eyes. What a glorious piece of flesh, you are.

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