i sit in my shoebox, staring at a hungry screen. i find myself a home in the arms of other angels who know the maddeningly sweet song of sticks and stones and bones and bones and bones. i pretend that i am a baby, already finished university, that the ghosts that haunt me have not crept into the minds of those who i (back when it was on my kindergarten vocab list) love.
i pretend i am alive.
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