They blacked out the names but left the ache.
I read between the scabs.
Now I curl, ink-thick and word-worn, a creature of redactions.
Don’t ask what I used to say.
The answer is buried beneath me.
They blacked out the names but left the ache.
I read between the scabs.
Now I curl, ink-thick and word-worn, a creature of redactions.
Don’t ask what I used to say.
The answer is buried beneath me.
