the turn of the key

skog

as darkness falls around me, wrapping me in its cold cloth, my body is pushed backwards, further and further down. the hours eat my insides, tearing flakes of flesh like warm artichoke from the walls of my stomach. in a northern forest somewhere a girl slowly turns her back to clueless wanderers, revealing nothing, a carved out space. I bury my head deep beneath the layers and listen intently to imaginary sounds.

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