One Hundred Lines

One Hundred Lines Humans, not the smartest flesh on the planet. Let me tell you something hurtful: the conundrum in which we are drowning is made of pain, fear, and sorrow. Distant echoes of blood. Can you feel the verge on your lips? This is not a funny thing to say. Do you remember when your fingers were long and purple? Thank you. Thank me. Thank us. Eileen is here with seventeen swollen tongues in his pockets. Tendrils of another time. I like to write. I like to be here. I like to be you. My...