Tag Archives: Lucy Palmer

She sleeps the sleep of the drugged, body furled in a comma, breath steady: in, out, in, out, my own personal metronome. The scar snakes silver on her arm, a beacon in creeping moonlight. I trace it with my finger like a surgeon with a knife. She doesn’t stir. When it happened, it was ugly; […]

The skin on his face is so pale it’s almost a whisper. So thin, so close to his skull. Sometimes I wish he would eat more so he would seem more real, more solid. Sometimes his skin makes me cry. He doesn’t understand this. He says he doesn’t want to be fat. I say he […]