Author: Emil Rasmussen | Date: 21 March
I used to think I was real. But I’ve started forgetting the alphabet. The sky feels scripted.
I dream of fighting a war—but not with weapons. With mirrors. Every time I break one, my hands bleed someone else’s blood.
She tells me I must keep fighting. That I was made to protect the kingdom. But whose kingdom is this?
There are no children left in my street. Only dust piles where their shadows should be.