words per minute
11
nicememe
00:00
Speed
I wake up cold, I who prospered through dreams of heat, wake to their residue, sweat, and a clinging sheet. My flesh was its own shield: Where it was gashed, it healed. I grew as I explored the body I could trust, even while I adored the risk that made robust, A world of wonders in each challenge to the skin. I cannot but be sorry, the given shield was cracked, my mind reduced to hurry, my flesh reduced and wrecked. I have to change the bed, But catch myself instead, stopped upright where I am, hugging my body to me as if to shield it from the pains that will go through me. As if my hands were enough to hold an avalanche off.