God's unsents, 2

4
Starlights die across human sight as secrets die between your breath and mine.

5
Born from a rumor of senses, my truth will never get past your skin.

6
I am not a writer. I hurt reading a world that cannot read itself.

7
The word is, in the end, mortal.

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Notes on ‘Blackbird’

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To hunt for Paula's poems

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Reflections after reading The Beach by Alex Garland