The mascara runs down your cheeks,
I have checked many times for leeks.
The leukemia is warm,
as the tumor grows less benign
dancing becomes more thrilling.
Just to get up and to move
is a miracle in the wakening
life of eyelids locked open.
I watch you over and over
again as if the ghost already
left your container,
your nails shall continue to
lengthen even when you're dead.
I try not to go there
but what the Hell
we all have fire
in the tire treads.
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