Don't let them kill you | JaylanSalah | Prose.

Dear child this fight must come to an end This rodeo bullfighting match has to stop whistles blowing brewing tattoos and mascara It needs to end Stop running child Make room in your cold bed for me Let's tell bedtime stories ones from our pasts when we were young and small no one

Prose.
I shed my skin | JaylanSalah | Prose.

things fall off fresh off the mud bath naked but hurt flayed and burnt if all my skin gets flayed what do you get what do you get something left on the borders of skin and flesh fragments of bone run your finger on that groove that hill ain't too steep something left a wave so aw

Prose.