by Avra Margariti

Published in Issue No. 276 ~ May, 2020

We collected each other’s blood

and spread it like camouflage across our cheeks.

We fought like toy soldiers

until we were the only battered,

bruised ghosts in the toy-box.

And the smoke rose so high

that the day morphed into night.

So we lay down and heard someone say, “Sleep.”

But our wounds wept and our eyes stung

from the fire we created.

And some pessimist cried and another wept.

So we echoed, “Sleep,”

as we fumbled among the ashes

for each other’s hand.

And we held on as tight as we knew how,

as if that alone could spare us

from our ugly fate of repetition.

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Avra Margariti is a Social Work undergrad from Greece. She enjoys storytelling in all its forms and writes about diverse identities and experiences. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Daily Science Fiction, The Forge Literary, The Colored Lens, Argot Magazine, The Arcanist, and other venues.