Cold sends me to sleep.
Duvet traps a small sun here.
Sweat wakes me from cold.
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
We trade our minds for mirrors that are not our own. They glimmer with a false and tempting sea. When fear invites another voice to claim our own.
By Test3 months ago in Poets
patience pushing through provocation and pain with poise passively plastered on unperturbed faces papering over the cracks formed
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Devours choccie eggs, A chocolate smorgasbord, Stomach-ache ensues. * Thanks for reading.
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They said she was ill. - Ill? What’s the deal, Annie thought. She was only 5. She spoke to angels, told them, “I want to be healthy… I want to be free.” They said, “Not yet. This is not for nothing. It has a meaning. Everything’s going to be alright.”
By Maya Or Tzur6 days ago in Fiction
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