Candied words reap brittle smiles
These sweet nothings emerge
Born from the instigations
Of the deepest cavities
Rotten and black
Longing for silver crowns
Yet gouged by Phillips heads
Twisting deeper
With pointed crux

Dark troughs
Seek shining minds
But are never obliged
What’s left is that vacuous wound
Stinging with each breath
And throbbing from each word
And yet we speak
Not for the brittle smiles
But for our own destructive catharsis
At the cost of our patient’s bones
-Galwyn

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