My forearm bears hundreds of pinprick scars. Each healed hole a needle-sized well for my bloodletter quill.
My tongue drips ink onto a razorblade fingernail. I etch another entry in my journal-within-a-diary. The binding of months is cracked and yellowed. Every letter I write withers a little bit more of my neonatality.
12:56 a.m. - 2015-05-21
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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