Reap What You Sew (PUblished in Killer Nashville Magazine)
Blood blurs my vision, cakes under my nails, and coats my tongue. Macabre work warrants a droning rhyme. “Pull my string, I unravel. Stitch my skin, pull me in.” Nimble fingers pull joints apart, sew holes closed, and package “products” in ice. “Attention. Arms required.” “Pull my string, I unravel.” I tug the cord holding …
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