CarnageA Poem by Trisha ClarkI woke up every night, from the same awful dream--
A cairn of torsos, visceral wreckage Surreal-- so it wouldn't have to seem so real.
I'd wake up shaking sometimes crying and I'd beg you to help to try and make it go away-- and you'd say, Trish, that's fucked up.
I never told you, the animal was you; the carnage was me.
© 2008 Trisha ClarkAuthor's Note
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