It’s harder to find us
these days; we’ve learnt to look
like everyone else, traded
costumes for new clothes, new

tricks. Some of us still play
the old games, promising
emptiness in different vessels,
but you can’t really blame anything

save descent – blood will out,
like truth, the kind that needs
no tarot, no bones, nothing
of the grave. All it takes

is a heartbeat, a glance
over your soul, or the parts of it
you wear like a skin
nobody else sees, but you

don’t even need that to know
how we’re all human
on some level and keep
secrets on another.

hood girl

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