Transformed.

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There’s fragrant oil pouring out of my neck from behind my ear.
There’s figures shimmering in and out of existence on the ends of my eyelashes.
There’s a royal desert excursion running up my back.
There’s briars sprouting from my palms and thorns poking into my wrists.
There’s a hotei living in my third eye.
There’s a cherub brushing sweet words across my lips with a feather.
There are builders upstairs throwing fuel on the fire around my head.
There are horns poking out of my shoulders.
There are ladders running up the backs of my legs.
There’s a secret tunnel through my abdomen.
I carry the figure eight.

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