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Life Spirals in Fibonacci Rhythms Reoccurring Nightmares 6/29/99 By Soror I.T.L. | |
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Long ago I was Little Red Riding Hood. Gasping for breath, night after night. I was trying to outrun the shadows that pursued me through the nightmarish terrain of my dreams. My hooded cape was as red as the blood spilt when I aborted my baby. As the wine I drank to forget my sorrow and her beautiful face. My hooded cape was as red as the menstrual blood that now reminds me I am a woman. Although if you turned me inside out you'd see my eggs festering and a vacant womb. Once, a very long time ago I was a different Little Red Riding Hood gasping for my first breath. My hooded cape was made of my motherís rusty blood. I'm told I was a difficult birth. I am a difficult birth, uncurling from my fetal position to spin through midnight red amniotic fluids. To stretch through the dawn-splashed red shadows. It's time to taste the magical life-red waters of my soul.
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