The Faded Alibi
The dream was of salt. It coated my tongue. It crusted in the folds of my neck. I woke with the taste of the harbor still on my lips, a thick, brine-heavy lie. I lay still. The ceiling was peeling. Plaster flakes fell like dead skin. I did not move. To move was to accept the day. To accept the day was to accept the debt. I am Caelen. I am not a man of the city. I am a man of the mud. We are in...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen