My hands and tongue are stained a brighter shade of black. I carry scores of inky secrets between coal-seared palms. I grow accustomed to the color and weight a day at a time. They are lighter than worries, heavier than flowers.
I chalk my hands with charcoal and ash to cover the tint. I hope to ignite them some day with a long breath of embers. I carry a quiet and sleeping phoenix, until then.
9:53 p.m. - 2015-04-22
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Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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