Pointless Line

I keep looking at this line of scare, this trace, risk of insanity, that old trace of you in tissue scar. My cut in spilled open gut and armless into disarmed of knives to the pigsty bathe in filth of me, sweat of foul, bi-products of evil urges into vile actions. This line of white marks me and yet I have gazed up on it an era ago and he only lives in my flesh, its only existence, shorter than a year, a trace in a painting, a trace of combined pain and destructive urges


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