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Stinging. Numb. I feel, don’t feel, anything. The crick in my neck twists in angst. My thoughts muddled, everything is unclear. There was a black room, I think. Concrete walls, covered in soot and ash; a breeze low and warm, was I outside at one point? I remember chalk writings on a wall, facing me?Continue reading “The Ladder Tattoo (Tuesday Writing Exercise)”