How could they speak? Could they sing, my knuckles covered in blood? What of my heart, healed and split in rhythmic cycles? Then my mind, and her cacophonous brilliance? How could they speak, apart from a fountain pen filled with scarlet ink? In forty poems, this collection brings to its readers a raw and honest lyrical expression of uniquely human experiences. The stories rise and fall like breath, as they articulate the familiar and confront the uncomfortable.
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