Journal: The Dreamer

The dreamer turns…tears her own throat out…fingers blood tipped reaching in and farther in, she sends breath like fire out through her eyes. They drop sandy water like the tilting river, dreams boiling underskin. The dreamer doesn’t speak anymore. Her fingers run over and over again across her larnyx and along the rings of her trachea, searching for a hidden treasure and hearing hoofbeats in the distance. She doesn’t notice the river water…the silver fishes, little snakes, crawdads and tadpoles floating from the rent in her neck until one tickles her nose with his fin. She flips her tail and swims, silver scales flashing in the sunlight.
~LHeilman

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