I dream of swirling words, barbed and sunk into my soft flesh. I wake startled to see such tentative wavering light, as if it has not yet decided to lay itself upon me. Hovering along the serrated edges of my pained breath. It is so much easier to let vision fade as now dominates, strong arming all frivolity. Those pulled sounds, stowaways, echo long into the day, a stinging tightness in my chest, a voice behind my closed eyes. Beyond the day, beyond the borders so cleverly placed on the edges of sanity, there are the bones of dreams not yet laid to rest. Night upon night, layer within layer, words without any form and redeption is but the warmth of a hand gently placed within the waiting curve of my back.

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