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23h
Salt-laced psalm,
spine flayed to ocean’s altar,
lungs silk-blown chalices,
brimmed ruin, opulent ache.

Veins spool cobalt litanies,
tongue lacquered in brine,
dress ink-heavy, ghost-stitched,
hem kissing abyss with bitten lip.

Hands—unseen, unholy,
peeling silence from ribs,
prying marrow from water’s throat,
pulling—pulling—pulling—

Lungs rupture,
breath shatters, raw-lipped mouth,
salt anointing teeth like last rites—
sea glutted, seething,
robbed of its relic,
bone-white hymn.
I drowned, but the water left thirsty.
Vianne Lior
Written by
Vianne Lior  16/F
(16/F)   
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