FIRE ESCAPE,
marlene van allen

FALLING OUT OF HEAVEN,
by john lynch
❝mother, my hands are not my own.
the ones I have are someone else's - they are useless to me. my old ones have been removed, and these old man's hands have been grafted on in their place.
i took a flower the other day and rolled its stem between these lumps i now have for fingers, trying to woo some sensation into them, but it was hopeless.
my feet, too, are different. i'm convinced they're not my old ones. in must happen whilst i'm asleep, when the shadows deepen and the forces of the inbetween come alive.
i have walked a lot. i have covered many miles, and i know each blister and crack that lurks between my toes.
they are not mine. i am sure of it. they are working at me, changing me piece by piece. it will end with my eyes, because when they replace them they will have my soul.❞

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