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Memories of my Brother XX
You didn't believe that just to burn yourself out
To the hymns of martyred
Clavicals was enough
You requested something more
Of your patella and your humerus
Because even when you boiled down your fat
Like it was for cooking pancakes in
You could not bring yourself
To fill your stomach with anything more than perfumes
And promises as empty as the cavern
Of your unkissed throat
And when your bones did not oblige
You began to screw your fingers tighter
Around each and every narrowing part of you
And it was harrowing to see
The way that your fingernails -
The only part of you still permitted to grow -
Tried to root out trenches along your vertebrae
From which you could battle your way
To fatal victory
And there were many casualties of trench warfare
But it was not barbed-wire and shelling
But fingernails that decimated me
Because I knew that every single one of your phalanges
Wanted to coil itself around
Your spinal cord
And pull sn-
-ap
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