The graybright sky smells emphatically of nothing. Cold humid prickles, the ghosts of raindrops, rise on the backs of my hands.
Today, I want to cleave myself in two, that I may be more exposed to the world. I want to tape my eyes open until they fill with tears and everything turns into a blur of colors. I want to be the off-key tuning fork for pianos in the trees.
Even when you see, you can not know if it's real.
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