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“You don’t rob a man of his suffering,” says Gelon quietly. “That’s his.”

When they had given him the mission of guarding the surface of the world, he’d never imagined he’d have to spend his time waiting on the shore while others, luckier than him, rode the waves to their heart’s content.

The world was recreating itself before his eyes, as if the big bang had just happened and he had been appointed the grantor of titles. Except, of course, he knew that the government had finished that job a long time ago. He knew that he was caught in the throat of a word that would never utter him, a word that he, too, would never let past his lips.

IN MY ROOM, a wardrobe sits.
And inside that, Wolf lurks and wails.
Inside Wolf, my grandma knits
A bellyful of fairy tales.

The sun said
Embrace me
And give me a drink from your forearm.

As the book censor awoke one morning, filled with others’ words, he
found himself transformed into a reader.

"a nootropic mind-enhancement drug that turned his mind into a Formula One race car on a highway of minivans." No escape from this wretched sport

Let me sort through who I am.