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9.

Margaret Mar y Riley in my idle days I sit at the back of my mind and eat the overlapping maps the charm is in the disappearing act

they know your name, at night they tuck their feet and when they talk about you—no, I’ve never understood the appeal

qu’est-ce qu’il y a the demand is for your head, your recklessness

do you feel regret not particularly it’s never interested me

now, pause.

i am thorn A.J. Huffman

and the petals of my rose are on fire. Blessedly, my eyes are made of ash. Blind to their own kind, they seek the scent of fresh blood, believing the ancient story. The blood is the life is a mantra I consume bitterly. A pill of truth, it sticks in my throat , echoes like a poison I never intended to swallow.

8

EAST COAST INK, Issue 010: FRESH  

We recently experienced the damage a relatively small fire can do. It's amazing how you can take the steps to prepare for something and stil...

EAST COAST INK, Issue 010: FRESH  

We recently experienced the damage a relatively small fire can do. It's amazing how you can take the steps to prepare for something and stil...

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