3/30

Desperation snuck in with the bees. I woke up ugly every day for a year, venomous tongue. My shoulders were icebergs of 'don't touch.' There was no map for when our bed became an ocean so we used our pillows for flotation devices. Slept holding our breath. The bees were making a hive in your chest so we dreamed of sawmills and neon. We never knew, but every time your mouth opened the buzz was deafening.

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