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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Writing · #1064103
first attempt at an honest poem regarding my life and emotions.
sawdust permeates the room.
dried blood clings to the sharp knives
sleeping in their sheaths.
he's coming home.

bits of flesh and meat cling to
his jeans
his hair
bleach takes care of the blood stains
and the dog licks the blood and meat from his work boots.

now the knives are clean and dull,
still sleeping in their sheaths.
the meat and bits of flesh cling to someone else.
the bleach no longers takes out the blood stains,
nor does the dog lick the boots.

the air is now filled with paper and ink,
jeans have been replaced with dress pants
tightly creased.
ties and sweaters take over the white, bloodstained shirts,
dress shoes replace the work boots.

but he is still coming home.
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