wounds for harvest.

words inspired from events transpired.
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It’s dawn but we still stay, adamant within our paper forts. Last night a breath of fire razed everything we’ve built to scorched earth, and among the ashes we erected an unsafe haven from the letters that we kept. A hope misplaced, that from these words we’d sketch a blueprint, a time machine.

They came to lead us away. In the flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, split second recollections strike the ground before us and we remember; her sweet smile and captivating demeanor, the way she sang and danced into our deepest soul; how we put her there, on a pedestal, without the slightest footwork on her part.

Away from self-destruction. One more to a wrist full of scars every time she barks, a bonus if she bites. “This way”, the voices from River Styx whisper, but we’ll never find our way out of here,

if we keep looking back with craned necks.