Today I cut my finger on the edge of my
diary. I stared at the drop of blood till it when a colour close to black. I took
the tip of the blade you gave me and scraped a smile into it. As I curl up in
into a warm blanket made of lost photographs, with faces I struggle to place
these days, I begin the nightly bartering. I reach down and take an image at
random and set it aflame and whisper to the chaotic shadows, “keep me safe this
night”. An offering to something I cannot know, and fear that one day I just
may. May this nigh keep if a bit further at bay, for last night I saw it had
left a few claw marks on the bed post. If it gets any closer I may have to
offer it the picture of you
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