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All fell Down Chapter Twelve

 

Every night now I’m woken by the orb in my chest humming.  For a moment I think of that half memory I have of my mother singing.  The wordless song.  The distant hum.  I lie there in bed and put my hand on it.  My cold hand slowly grows warm and the warmth spreads through my body.  I lie there and I tell myself that if I hold my hand on the orb long enough the heat from it will burn all my enhancements away.  I close my eyes and will the heat to find its way into my brain and set my core system to flame.  I don’t even care if it means I die.  When they aren’t telling me what to do, when they leave me alone, I get feelings like this but still I wake up and obey every word they say.  I forgot the heat.  I forget that I’m not who I’m meant to be.

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About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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