The Eight of Wands
a love letter about panic attacks, dogs, and ancestor work.
Dear Kiernan, my love,
The last few nights, I've been waking up around 1 or 2 a.m, hours ruled by Mercury, by Jupiter, and my face is flooded with nightmare heat, and I've got sweat under my implants, the nerves along the scars jumping, and there is a hand in my heart, or around it, squeezing. You are sleeping, always, just fine, and I know enough never…