My writing / Uncategorized

Retreat

We sit falling. Looking at the walls. Hands, small. Roof, arms, wrists, skin. Anything. That is nothing, really. We sit falling. Making movement, creating crimson, on our skin. From our hands that are rub rub rubbing. At arms, wrists, skin. Anything. To stop us from falling. Fear of everything. Everything, and nothing. Fear that soaks … Continue reading