too_many_feathers

Senza misura, soli, corde illimitate, diminuendo

There are too many feathers.

She had feathers for hair, feathers for eyebrows and feathers on her chest. Feathers in her armpits and on her mound. Feathers burst from her eyes and out her mouth and from her fingernails. She sweat feathers and she bled feathers, they pulsed against her skin and snuck between the cracks, as her skin, too, was feathers. She was white on the outside and bled black. She lost form, she lost her soul. Perhaps she never was a woman, perhaps she was always feathers.

There are too many hours in the day.

You crank the wheel and crank the wheel and

You swing your scythe and pick up the barley and swing your scythe an

You read and you imagine and you read and

You watch a performa

You eat and you drink

You crank the

Y

I

There is too much light, and there are too many eyes.

Our planet is fire and I’m a glass scallop.

/ðɛr ɑr tu ˈmɛni saʊndz/. /ɛnˈdjʊrɪŋ kæˈkɑfəni/.

角色太多了。أنت تغطي كل الاحتمالات بالكلمات.

<3 > ∞

It’s always pain, sequential and simultaneous, contradicting and compounding, from everywhere and nowhere. Your only choice is to break, and you take it, and you take it again, and again, and you keep breaking, there is too much breaking, there is too much breaking but there’s still too much you, I, me, us.