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Voices stick to your feet. Do they touch the ground?
Somewhere in the desert they watch your scalp dry out.
They try to read your palms, but your sins wrinkle when you shake.
There is a child without a middle name or face.
Royal blood soaked up all of Discovery Bay.
Eldest son sleeps inside god's pocket.
They found him at the bottom dressed in papier mache.
His family made masks of his face.
I'll wear it while smearing mascara all across your vase.