wax

you took my spine, rendered me
immovable, opening me up when you
wanted a story to tell, and when you
were finished, you’d light my crown up to
burn me down, and i would just fold in on
myself, turning into a pool of a
weaker, number version of myself,
the virgin thread of oak now ash
___
backdated Post a Day poem for June 11th, 2017

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