NAZCA Lines

I whisper in sheets of paper and send them to your mailing address. I told the story of how freedom became my own oppressor, of how breaking away from taboo elicited another taboo. Ours was an entire civilization, of language and customs, brought to dust by my sorcery. I would burn myself if we could resurrect from the ashes, but we can’t. 

your voice, 

your h
air, 

your skin and bones

I am sending out signals to the house we all slept in—the house I burned. Traces of the comforts it offered me are still with me today, and when I look at them, it puzzles me how I came to combust spontaneously. They were evidences of our existence: a bag of kittens, a vial of perfume, a tube of pencils, a dreamcatcher, a concert ticket.

your voice, 

your hair,

your skin and bone
s 

For the longest time, our secrets remain hidden. Layer upon layer of dirt covers them. They gather dust in my absence. I have buried myself too deep, the base of the mailbox touching the tip of my nose, awaiting your response.

these lines 

support the right

side of the story, 

from falling 

apart

complete
ly.

Save Me - Aimee Mann