The jury is brought in on a gurney, racing through labyrinths of blinding white marble and crazy accusations. You wrapped your hands around my frightened lungs, forcing me to breathe in the dust from yellowed newspaper clippings of missing children and obituaries. When I cried out in loneliness. you landed soft kisses onto my eyelids, telling me: the scales are held by titled hands. I whisper into the darkness of a million empty waiting rooms,
I'm not blind.
Author notes
more to come.
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