Ripped open some old wounds tonight
It wasn’t the intention
Not really
I only meant to run a finger over the scar tissue
Tactile needs satisfied with a few strokes
But my finger became a talon
Straight through flesh and sinew and blood
Down to the bone
It had a name
The name had an echo
The echo had friends
Now all I hear is their laughter
Bouncing off the walls of my head
-rjm
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Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
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