I’m awash with words, ink bleeding across paper thin skin. I’m that fragile. I wake up crying in the half-light, words blurred and stained with tears. I am cast by demons and angels who whisper lullabies and thread sleep with unconscious language. Dreams escape my grasp as I tremble, trip and stumble. The words are spelled, hidden in blood and bone. Nightmares are ghosts falling from the mother tongue, pushing me into wakefulness, leaving me to deciper mirror-painted language. I read the brush strokes of wings until words rush to surface skin, eager to be revealed, breathless as an open o


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