mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli
mordicai

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you can't even catch me, much less control me.

dreams like strangling hands. sounds that hit every octave the nightingale leaves out; the noise of trees expanding in winter almost, dull moans that like a duck's quack, lack echo. every morning, this one no exception, my room is icebox cold; a morgue climate. last night, gravity tugged my blankets half off the bed, & i woke up unable to tell where the dream's freezing avernus left off- well, apart from the absence of sulfur.

today, though? i'm the gingerbread man.
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