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hold me while I wait to be extinguished
I fear the white hot artifice
in those janky hanging lights…
uh huh,
in polite tones, she dissects my soul
— she eats my scraps of hope,
promises wrapped in less than nothing…
hold me while I hang on for forgiveness
for the myriad lies I’ve told
and for all the times I’ve sold myself
for maybe less than nothing…
the mark is on me now
and the future tie-dyed, berry-blue
and all of it’s washed away
— hold, hold……




Dirty realism, grunge lit, creative confessions, spec fic, and assorted literary atrocities.

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Franco Amati

Franco Amati

Speculative fiction writer from New York. For published work visit or buy me a coffee at

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