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  • It's the itchy broken leg of boredom. The knitting needle of innovative scratch inside that potted limb.

    It's the salt wash and the rooting around for the bits left inside. The glass, the broken pin and the rusty nails.

    It's the seventeen separate operations already had. The stitches that need to come out. The angry looking scar.

    Oh.


    I am bored of this wound.


    Give me a new dress, paint my nails. Let's go dancing.

    Let's kiss under starlight and dream of each other.

    Let's not worry about whether it hurts. Even when it does. Even when it does.

    Oh.


    I am bored of this wound.


    Let's make love, fuck, ride new horizons. Let's stop thinking about anything and everything else. Let's not be dead.

    Let's be alive. Let's be bored of this wound. Let's be bored of it until there is nothing left to be bored of, darling.

    Yes, let's.


    (Drawing credit : Alan Coulson's work in progress of me)
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