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Zane E.M. Pinner |
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Nothing that comes out of my body is the right colour. The blood of this vessel, rusted in the joints and clogged with oily chunks, coughs bubbles of foul acidity, speckling crimson on the lips. Dark lumps in my life fluid, crumbling salt in my eyes. On the screen, her eyes are piercing, pleading, begging me for help, but she is years ago and I am now. Sometimes, it is hard to come back.
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