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Ingrid Llewellyn
blank page, empty screen, unfilled
mind
circling words drift
untouched pressures burn and sear dancing men
sing drops of blood in my ears twisting black
gnarled hands cover the keys
and press . . . Hack, Hack
while a little girl
so uncertain
hides behind a mask
rapidly words fill the page,
the screen,
her mind
bitter flesh falls from quick fingers subtle white and amber blues
an arrow leading out
of the woods
falling oranges hit open eyes
as she types
THE END.
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