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It begins like this : dissolving, emptying

out. I feel like snakeskin, I feel
like a delicate, empty thing, I
feel open, hollow.


Inside my sheets my skin is humming, all
around this tiny warm space is
dark, all around is nothing.

The world is a vanishing thing,
swept away from me like rough sand.

I am an island.























I am the only thing left.

Today is an escaping day, a day
burrowed deep in my own skin,
feathers, flannel.


It begins like this : peeling off the layers, one
by one and baring myself,
shivering, to Winter.



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