; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Sunday, 26 June 2011

what does a bird do when its wings break mid-air

i feel it in my teeth, my skin. every inch of my bones carries a pulse, and it's not mine. not at all. i feel it begin in my follicles; cold and restless. spasmodic. at one moment it is heavy. the sound is loud; the bass of it shudders my knuckles and bones to shreds. i am a container of ivory slivers that clatter in the night. then it all falls to quiet.

sleep evades me.

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