1226 9 4
|
Creep up behind me one day and prick my skin. I promise you won’t draw blood – for it is ink that will spurt from my veins.
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28085
|
It was raining when I found his glasses on the moor, a typical misting drizzle that chilled the skin and gathered on the wiry grass, but leaves a person reluctant to wear a hat or pull their hood up, because by the time the weather's apparent, hair and hood are already…
|
104454
|
this is where we end --
the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.
|
72584
|
Our ink was disappearing. All of it.
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