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March 17, 2013 by tonyberkman

Writing Table

I have a scream sitting heavy at the top of my throat, threatening to run riot upon the world. It tickles my tonsils whenever I speak, biding its time for when I least expect it. Whenever I write, I can feel that scream edging closer to my fingers: it’s gasping for air – for any way out of its prison – but the closer it gets, the harder I suppress it.

I feel like there is a tornado swirling in my chest, its sole agenda being to destroy everything it comes into contact with. It finds a way to my brain. Pauses there. No, it thinks, this place is already ravaged. It backs away and fallsfallsfalls back down again.


I am empty, but for a thick layer of dust that used to be called “bones” and “muscle” and “cells” and “tissue.” My brain is still intact but it’s…

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