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Grate, grate, grate My heart slides over the finger-top, dimpled metal plates Shavings of flesh squeeze, bloody Through the sharp curves
I gave you a small, stilly shiny-smooth corner of my soul Not criss-cross kelloid with the past To caretake And you force it Grate, grate, grate
Through the serrated surfaces With your pointed words And leave me oozing Damaged
Grate, grate, grate Another scar, another surface Open to salt Open to burn Open over you
Grate, grate, grate
15/06/2006
Abbi van den Berg
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