building

it’s in the build up 

pressure on the rise 

nails penetrating 

deeper and deeper 

breaking skin 

digging into flesh 

made to feel lost 

in the swirl of unscented 

dryer sheets spinning 

until I can’t find which way to turn 

the cycle on high heat 

when I need delicate to take the lead 

because I can’t help but miss 

not having 

a card to send 

a flower to give 

a smile to share 

a call to make –

the line on the other end is dead – 

as the nail causing 

this bloody blazen 

of grief

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