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Having a sense of my own body would be allowing your shadow to triumph. So if I win, it’s because I am a victim of victory. Hold the procession— cheer in the houses, not in the streets. All the roads once leading to my heart, have remained without traffic. Give me a gift that’s been unwrapped by the giver, and let my fraud surpass the record you’ve set. I am now visionless and blind because my eyes have not seen anything after your departure.

The Metric Issue 08 - Literary Magazine  
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