Lost my grip. Now I’m floating aimless in an ocean of skin that’s faltering. Too rocky an endeavor to not affect my withering bones, the way the ice storm froze your water colder than I could believe. This atlas is old and these islands are mapped incorrectly. I found myself in the uncharted latitudes and longitudes’ meeting place and stranded off the coast of anything that should mean anything to me. I carved this grid into the skin between my teeth so I could come back and drown myself when I get tired of losing sleep.
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