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Hollow-Holler

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June 06, 2010 - 10:22

Walking down a street I've walked six hundred times, conceding to a slower gait, noticing for the first time how much I hate this street. For how it moves, for where it used to take me. The hands at my side no longer my own.
Press on to a steadfast amble, calm dying bumble bee on my extended finger tip. Face flush, anticipating ambush. We walk for a while until he falls. I say, he wants to die in peace.
A projection.
Feeling half the woman, twice the woman, and not the same woman at all. Just a stupid girl.

Equal parts stung and sedated.