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"Wolves howl in my head, but my heart is a fox."
The upper part of the drawing is a landscape of the head. Stormy thoughts, anger, confusion, and the dizzying lightness of the mind.
The lower part is a landscape of the heart. Sorrowful, fragile, heavy, and elusive.
Craving solitude, and quietly darkening.
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For my soul is small again. Loved someone and offered them my virgin soul, they ate it before breakfast. Didn't like it, spat it out, and told me to get it back in my bones. I tried to, but my soul was chewed on. Crinkled all over. In between its ridges saliva made puddles. In those puddles I tried to keep an aquarium alive. Now my soul is curled up in the corner of my left shoulder right above my heart. It's the warmest part of my entire body. It stays there during all seasons. At night sometimes, it tries to needle something out of my internal veins, I let it be. It doesn't hurt much. I drink some tea and it's all calm afterwards.
If it happens to hurt too much, I'll try to sharpen my wing's ends for distraction. And protection.
If someone chewed up on my soul once more, they eventually have to swallow it down whole and I don't want the inner veiny sweater in me to be left unfinished. I'm guessing it's green. The fabric can look good on my intestines.
