Dark and light,
we’re eye to eye,
a blinding fortress.

The winds blow.
Listen to trees whispering.
Stilts are tipping

over. Earthquake shakes
muscle and bones.
Inside out, where blood

and skin meet—string me,
marionette me. Control me.
I’m holding steady

in wrinkled skin,
old and peeling.
Control me.

By Erica Varela

Website: http://EricaVarela.com

Instagram: @writerericavarela

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