Dislocations: running over sharp stones, arm dangling from the elbow, flapping about like a scarf in the wind. it didn't hurt, then. the way the voices pool, collecting in the soul - they didn't hurt, then. oh, but had i killed one thousand men ... i might have the courage to become one of them. The way the voices pool, a collection in the soul, they didn't hurt, then. Avoid saying, 'you' even where credit is due, when the voices come through: they only hurt now, when I think they're my own, "You can never go home."
screaming at low volumes
