I wish my blood was made of words travelling through vein-like phrases. My body a whole dictionary, my organs novels and encyclopaedias. I would breathe in letters, exhale metaphors, bite into punctuation, commas between my teeth, soliloquies down my larynx, epistolary journals against my lungs, and poetry, like oxygen, around my heart.
I wish...I wish I could be literature so that maybe, just maybe, my fingers would learn the patterns of story telling and my mind would know the secrets of word-weaving, like a shuttle on a loom. Back and forth. Back and forth. Slowly building the colours, weaving my word-skin into the tapestry, and finally say: here, look, this is who I am.
- MJ Letourneau
- JoinedOctober 19, 2013
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myrghkerenza
Jun 12, 2016 02:48PM
Hi Guys! I'm sorry for not updating price of sacrifice but I will, soon, hopefully. And please don't get mad at me. I know it has been ages since my last update but i have to reread the story as it h...View all Conversations
Story by myrghkerenza
- 1 Published Story
Price Of Sacrifice
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We are all puppets. Whether it is this life or the next. We will always have a master.
After all, I know now...
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