Textling #10

Then fatigue throws a blanket over me, thick and felted, fills mind and limbs with hush. The nervous system catches fire though, stokes long forgotten pains, strikes hammer blows in curious places. I’d like to map them in red string, trace their trajectories – on skin, through muscles, organs, bones. Always, and above all, I ache to create, scale the gap between metaphor and reality.

First to the business of crawling out from under, give those heavy folds the slip. Pick up the reins of this shrunk life: Bath! Speech! Clean clothes! Eyes wide, so a bit of world pours in…

Blanket and I are inseparable now. It is stitched to my shoulders, bears down as I try and drape myself in words. I’ll gladly wear my pants on top if ever it turns into a super duper power cape.


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