for a few days of a few weeks of a few months, i live in a very little house. there are roses on the wardrobe. squirrels in the window-sill. cool blood-stained sheets on the bed. a tree to sit in. old graves to stamp on. doors to bang so hard the paint falls off. a shower so hot it will wash away any pain. a wooden floor to twirl on. silence, and music, and real darkness at night.
it's perfect. but it's a doll house. and i am not a doll.
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