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That night something crawled between my ribs and whispered to my heart until the blood in my veins was sullied with secrets.
Now when I scrape my knees the wounds never clot; they flow and seek and hunger.
To whom do I owe the bitter symbols etched upon my skin?
To whom do I owe the soil caked beneath my fingernails?
To whom do I owe the salt always layered on my teeth?
The wind howls and it howls and I can’t help but wonder if it’s finally come for me.
Would things be so bad if it did?
Point anywhere on the map and that’s where I am, I’m only solid here.
I could disappear like a magic trick if I truly and fully believed, but as with most things, even minute levels of doubt ground me to reality.
If I decided to never sleep again I would spend my nights thinking of the sea and of colors and of all the music that will only be born long after I am buried.
Thinking of snake skins and the smell of Autumn and the feel of bone-deep hunger.
How easy it would be; to wake up one day for nothing to ever be the same again.
You returned to me this afternoon.
Like a wild creature running from the winter’s chill you scratched at the front door until your fingernails were splintered and peeled back.
I let you in expecting someone else. I should have looked through the peephole before opening my home.
Hair matted with grime and teeth stained with blood you ran to me as a child would to their mother, arms outstretched, and held me close in an embrace which siphoned the warmth from my bones.
Darling, you were never one to commit to anything.
It was foolish of me to expect you would stay in your grave for long.