November 12, 2014

“There is a man who sounds like a fly when he speaks. His voice comes from the walls. It is trapped inside the plaster. I keep him up in my attic, hidden behind the eaves and wooden planks. He disturbs my sleep with his buzzing. I toss and turn with my face pressed hard against my pillow and when I swallow, the saliva is always so acidic that it burns. I feel a hole in my throat. I feel a hole so deep that it gapes inside my skin. I can fit a candlestick inside. I can fit a fork and knife. But the hole is plugged up, covered with hard mucus, packed up with calcified fat. I never open my mouth when I’m near him.”

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