this whole ordeal blows over, and the people are suddenly cured
of the fear that plagues them, rejoicing to the heavens Amazing
grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,
I doubt
I’d be able to find the girl I lost in the golden days. Right now—

something inside of me hangs onto life by a fraying thread. I rot
within these walls, marking each hour by the tears I can still shed
to pass them, to make the minutes run with the wind I can’t feel.

Morning, afternoon, night. Lather, rinse, repeat. There is no such
thing as grace in a body like mine, a vessel craving the soft touch of
real, breathing life, past the borders of pink-painted bedroom walls
and no appetite and lost sleep. I thirst for the life I lived before—

how I would sink my teeth into its sour rind and suck the juices out
and run, how I RAN! kicking up soil as I flailed myself in a thousand
directions at once, all of that mortal magic I felt back when I was still
invincible enough to seize the world with both hands, ALLEGRO!

I felt the wind in my hair and against my chest and on my bare
knees blood-stained and kissed by grass and I believed, truly

believed grace to be interchangeable with body

which was synonymous with freedom and timelessness
and the electricity of being young and still unstolen from


were the words I would scream all the way back home, burning.

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